


Bloodied Up

by Nomad (nomadicwriter)



Series: Further to Fly [9]
Category: West Wing
Genre: AU, Drama, Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-25
Updated: 2003-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 34,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadicwriter/pseuds/Nomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ninth in the 'Further to Fly' series. Big changes are underway...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Spoilers**: This story goes AU somewhere around late season three, but backstory established in the season four episodes "Debate Camp" and "Holy Night" is also fair game.  
**Disclaimer**: The characters and concepts used within belong to Aaron Sorkin; I'm just borrowing for non-profit purposes.

> _You have every right to be this appalled with me, join the club  
> I signed up a long time ago and I know how you feel  
> And when you decked me, you left me knocked out on the floor  
> I came to bloodied up, but you weren't around  
> I picked my teeth off the ground like they'd been there before_
> 
> \- Bloodied Up, Alkaline Trio

  


* * *

** I **

**THURSDAY:**

She was jolted awake by the sound of violent coughing.

"Jed? Jed, honey, are you all right?" she asked worriedly, scrambling to her husband's side. He waved her away, still coughing.

"I'm-" He swallowed hard. "Fine."

"Okay." Abbey got up and quickly poured him a glass of water. She brought it over to him, and rubbed his back comfortingly as he drank.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely, when the coughing had subsided.

"Is your throat bad?"

"I just breathed wrong when I woke up," he excused. But he sighed heavily as he lay back, and she gave him a sympathetic smile as she curled closer to him on the bed.

"Feeling bad, babe?" she said softly.

"It'll pass," he said, and made the effort to smile at her. His eyes looked sad, though, and she softly kissed his cheek. He was uncharacteristically silent as she brushed the hair back from his forehead, surreptitiously checking his temperature at the same time.

Perhaps his melancholy mood was only to do with his current poor health, and would pass as quickly as this cold. It worried her, however. It was surely a vicious cycle; his increasing frailty depressed him, and that in turn did his health no favours. Many of his previous forms of relaxation were now denied to him; it wasn't safe to smoke, drinking left him far more intoxicated than it used to, and the low-fat, low-sugar diet that guarded his physical well-being left him thoroughly miserable.

What he needed, she reflected, was something to cheer him up; something that would delight him enough to shake him out of his current malaise. The trouble was, she couldn't for the life of her think what. The impending birth of Zoey's child might just do it... but that was still four months away.

Abbey looked down at her husband. His eyes had fallen closed again, but he was only resting them, not sleeping. All too soon, he would have to leave the relative peace of their shared bed, and face another long day of stress and difficult decisions.

Something definitely had to be done to make him feel better. She decided that if she couldn't think of anything, then she'd just have to get herself a partner in crime. She knew just the person, too. Donna Moss had been wonderfully helpful at gauging the president's mood during the tough days following the publication of a book about his troubled childhood, and she had plenty of practice dealing with her boss's unpredictable moods. Surely, between the two of them, they'd be able to cook up something that would brighten her husband's day for a while.

* * *

Sam grimaced at his reflection in the kitchen mirror as he carefully straightened his tie. Steve sloped in, hair sticking up in all directions. "Gods, what unholy hour of the night is this?" he grumbled. Sam swivelled to face him.

"Ten to seven?" he said, raising a pointed eyebrow.

His boyfriend shuddered. "It's not natural. No man should be awake this early." He inspected the half empty coffee mug on the kitchen table. "Were you planning on drinking this?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. But you can have it." Steve downed it in one swig, and gave a happy sigh.

"Ah, caffeine." He sat back, regaining some semblance of humanity. "Did you get paged into work?"

Sam gave him a look. "Ah, so you _did_ notice the quarter hour of uninterrupted beeping?"

"I told you, you should sleep with that thing under your pillow if you expect it to wake you up," he shrugged. "I don't wake for nuclear bombs."

"I had noticed." He pulled on his suit jacket. "Yeah, I got a page. The Swedish Ambassador's kicking up some kind of a ruckus. Again."

"The guy from the dinner party?" Steve frowned.

"That's the one."

"Seriously, how does a guy like that get to be ambassador? I know Swedish people; he is not a representative sample of the average level of toolishness."

Sam raised his chin as he inspected his beard in the mirror. Even after several weeks, he still wasn't entirely used to seeing it. "I think it was in revenge for us sending them Ted Sloker," he offered vaguely.

"Well, what did we do that for?" Steve wondered, inspecting the contents of a box of cereal dubiously.

"It was nothing personal," Sam shrugged, "we just wanted him as far away from us as possible." He leaned across to give his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek.

"You'll be home late?"

"I usually am," he agreed wryly.

"Give the Swedish Ambassador a kick for me?"

He smirked. "I wish. See you later, Steve."

"See you tonight," he responded absently. "Hey, did you have the toy out of the cereals?" he abruptly demanded. "I'm collecting those!"

Sam snorted. "You can have the next one," he promised tolerantly.

"Oh, so you say, so you _say_. Need I remind you of the Great Christmas Stocking Debacle of 2003?"

"_Goodbye_, Steve." Rolling his eyes, but smiling, he fished for his car keys, and headed out to work.

* * *

"Charlie? Are you leaving?"

He smiled at his wife's sleep-fogged voice from the next room. It was another depressingly long day ahead, but he was feeling more relaxed than he had been in recent days. The threat posed by all manner of neo Nazis and garden-variety nutcases to them and their imminent baby was by no means diminished, but he felt better after talking it over with Zoey. Leo had been right; keeping it bottled up had only made him twice as frustrated.

"Yeah, I'm just about to go," he said, buttoning his cuffs as he walked back into the bedroom. He frowned at the sight of her pale face peeking over the covers. "Zoey? Are you all right?"

"Yeah." She sniffed, and reconsidered. "I've got kind of sore throat."

Charlie winced in dismay. "The president gave you his cold?"

"Guess that'll teach me to kiss my dad," she mumbled, closing her eyes. He crossed back to the bed, and sat down.

"Want me to-?"

"_Charlie_," she protested, cracking open her eyelids. "It's a cold! Go to work."

He grimaced. "Aw, no. It's hereditary." He'd been taking this line off the president all week. _It's just a cold. I'm fine. I don't need my pills. I don't need to take a break. Stop fussing._

Two sick Bartlets in one go? His life wouldn't be worth living.

"Yeah, well, unlike my dad, I'm not the leader of the free world," she reminded him, clutching the covers.

"Also unlike your dad, you're five months pregnant," he countered.

"Yeah, but last time I checked, the pregnancy wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of my sinuses, so..."

He gave a long sigh, and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Look after yourself, okay, Zoey?" he pleaded.

"I'm fine."

"Stay in bed."

"Charlie, I'll be fine!"

He stood up, resigned. He'd had this exact same argument too many times with the president to believe it would work any better on his daughter. "If anything happens- if you get sick, if you're dizzy, if you think you're getting feverish... call me. Call me at work, I'll come home."

"Okay," she said, but she rolled her eyes emphatically as she said it. Charlie patted the swell of her belly.

"I mean it. 'Cause, you know, we went to a lot of effort to get this little fella, and we don't want any harm to come to him because his mother thinks she can run the marathon with a hundred and two degree fever."

Zoey gave him a look. "I like how you make it sound like you did an equal share of the work."

He straightened up and smirked. "I did my part," he said, with a nod of self-satisfaction.

She giggled. "Go to work, Charlie."

"Okay." He ruffled her hair, eliciting a faint squeak of protest. "I'll call you from work as soon I can get a chance."

"Don't _worry_, Charlie," she chided him intolerantly.

"Yeah," he agreed vaguely.

That ship, however, had pretty much sailed.


	2. II

** II **

She missed him. She knew she'd made the right decision, but... she already missed him.

Andy had never been a great one for sentiment. She knew Toby had still worn his wedding ring months after the divorce had gone through, but hers had gone straight in the dresser drawer. It made her feel foolish to sit and look at it, like some drippy heroine in a romantic movie.

She withdrew it now, however, and rolled it thoughtfully around her palm. Missed chances, and battered dreams...

How like Toby, to propose again just when she'd decided to break it off with him. It was almost symbolic of the whole messy business; he'd always had that stubborn, dogged refusal to face up to reality. He refused to accept the pattern of defeat after defeat after defeat as a reason not to try again.

She supposed that was how he'd ended up staying in politics, and eventually wormed his way onto the Bartlet campaign - a ticket to nowhere that everyone was shocked to see suddenly make it. If he'd had the damn sense to give up after the half dozenth time it all went to hell, he'd never have seen the inside of the White House at all.

So maybe that made him more tenacious than her, or stronger, or something. She didn't know. She just knew she was tired of working so damn hard to go exactly nowhere. Maybe to Toby that was old news, but she just couldn't live like that anymore. She didn't want to go through the same dance over and over again in the futile hope that maybe this time it would have a different ending.

She knew breaking free of the cycle was the only smart move to make.

She just wished she didn't miss him quite so much.

* * *

CJ could feel something brewing the moment she stepped into senior staff. Leo was unreadable but obviously tense; Josh looked pale and anxious. Toby appeared to be brooding about something, but really, that could be anything. Sam was clearly as clueless as she was; they shared a troubled, puzzled glance.

_What's going on?_

She just prayed it wasn't anything to do with the president's health.

Sam stole the question from her lips. "Leo, how's the president?" he asked nervously.

Leo seemed preoccupied. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. He's still pretty under the weather, but it's not serious. Just a cold," he nodded.

The tension level ratcheted down several notches, but she noticed Josh didn't look any more relieved. Whatever was going on didn't appear to be about the president... but it was obviously serious.

Whatever it was, however, Leo didn't volunteer any information. He fixed her with his usual firm gaze. "Anything to report?"

"The Swedish Ambassador's kicking up a fuss about something," she answered automatically. "Unfortunately, since he was heavily drunk when he called the White House to complain about it, we're either going to have to wait until he sobers up, or find an interpreter who specialises in abusive drunken Swedish."

"You're handling it?" Leo asked tersely.

"I am," Sam volunteered. For which CJ was exceedingly grateful. There were three main classes of ambassador: polished and highly qualified diplomats, good-natured but ineffectual schmoozers, and those who were so horrendously embarrassing they'd either been appointed simply to get them the hell out of their home government, or as a devious act of retribution against their destination. Some, like Lord Marbury, managed the fairly clever trick of appearing to be in all three groups at once. The current Swedish Ambassador, however, fell firmly into the third category.

"You'll sort it out?" Leo transferred his gaze to the Deputy Communications Director.

"It's all bluster," Sam shrugged confidently. "His government can't stand him any more than we can, they're not going to put their weight behind him for anything short of a bone fide diplomatic incident."

"Okay."

Sam glanced across at CJ, and smirked. "Oh, hey, how was your dinner date with Danny?"

She glared. "It was a business meeting!" Sam threw up his hands in surrender, without looking the slightest bit apologetic. She jerked her head at Toby. "If you want to live vicariously through other people's love lives, you'll have to lean on Pokey here."

Toby's face remained utterly impassive, and yet he somehow wordlessly projected dire threats towards anybody stupid enough to take up that suggestion.

Leo pushed up his glasses, and scowled impatiently. "Can we leave the soap opera for junior high, please? Class dismissed." He nodded at his deputy. "Josh, stay behind a minute."

CJ would very much have liked to know what their troubled expressions were about, but times like this were a sharp reminder that much as Josh might be one of the boys, the Deputy Chief of Staff got in on some loops that the rest of them were cut out of.

"Know what that's about?" Sam asked in a low voice as they left Leo's office. She shook her head. She cast around for Toby to see if he had any more of a clue than the rest of them, but he'd already disappeared off down the corridor.

Whatever it was, she just hoped it didn't mean another scandal about to come crashing down around their ears.

* * *

"Oh, come on, Shelley," Donna wheedled, phone trapped between shoulder and ear as she typed. "He's the cutest little ball of fluff you ever- Yes, I know James is allergic, but surely... Oh, well, what about Cameron? Can he take a kitten?"

She listened. "Africa? What's he doing-?" She looked up as a shadow fell over her, and straightened up abruptly as she saw who it belonged to. "Okay, thanks anyway, Shelley, I've got to go."

The First Lady smiled warmly at her as she put the phone down. "Not interrupting, am I?"

"Oh, no, no." Donna coloured. "I was just- It's not important."

"Okay." The First Lady took a seat across from her.

"Um, did you want to speak to Josh?" Donna wondered.

"No, actually, I thought you could help me with something."

"Is this about the president?" she guessed tentatively. For reasons she still wasn't entirely sure of, she'd been honoured with the huge responsibility of keeping an eye on the president's general well-being when the First Lady wasn't around to do it herself. CJ had told her it was because she was far enough removed from the mess of political manoeuvring to see him more easily as a human being... but she still didn't see why there weren't dozens of other people surely better suited to the task than her.

Mrs. Bartlet nodded. "I'm a little worried about him, to tell you the truth," she admitted.

Donna immediately felt panicked. "This cold, it isn't-?"

"No, no, it's nothing but a case of the winter sniffles," she smiled reassuringly. "Walking around in the snow without a coat, the man's a child. No, he's not seriously ill, but he's been rather down of late. All these stresses and health troubles have been piling up on him a little."

"I can imagine." Donna's heart bled for the president. He'd had to suffer through a serious scare when it seemed his MS might be worsening, and everyone knew how miserable it made him to have to watch his diet and his lifestyle to make sure it was less likely to happen again. Then - as if that wasn't enough for _anybody_ to deal with, let alone the leader of the free world - there had been that horrible book, dredging up all the details of an unhappy childhood to be raked over by the media.

A little depressed? It was a wonder he wasn't looking for a chance to throw himself off the nearest bridge.

"What can I do?" she asked instantly.

"Well, I don't know," the First Lady mused. "I'm a little stuck for thinking of ways to cheer him up, so I thought I'd enlist a partner in crime."

Donna blushed, feeling both privileged and deeply inadequate. Really, who was she to be venturing an opinion on what might make the president feel better? Yes, she had experience handling Josh, but what knowledge came from that was probably better applied to truculent two-year-olds than depressed presidents. She was fairly sure President Bartlet would not be so easily controlled by the 'Look! Shiny!' method of boss distraction.

"You're sure I'm not interrupting your phone call?" Mrs. Bartlet asked, after a moment - probably misinterpreting Donna's moment of awkward silence.

"No, really." She tucked back a strand of hair, embarrassed. "I was just, um, making some calls while Josh is still in senior staff. I wouldn't normally," she hurried to justify herself, "but you see my roommate's cat just had kittens, and we can't keep them, and we've managed to find homes for all but one of them, and-"

The First Lady cut her off with a smile and an upraised hand. "I'm quite familiar with the kitten-homing situation, Donna. We used to have cats on the farm." She looked thoughtful. "He misses the farm, I know. He always liked having all that space and the animals around. I wish I could just give him some time off and take him there, but..." She sighed.

The president was probably the one person in the building who got even less vacation time than his own staff. Even when he was away from the White House, he had the weight of his office hanging over his head, knowing that literally any second he could be yanked away from his family to face vital life and death decisions.

Abbey pulled her chair closer to the desk, and smiled. "Anyway. Let's talk about cheering up my hangdog of a husband before he mopes his way into oblivion."

* * *

Leo looked up at his deputy as he leaned back in his chair. "You found out when he's back?"

"This afternoon." Leo nodded slowly. "You want me to-"

"No. No, I'll take this one," he decided. This was going to be a decidedly messy conversation, and Josh was never good at keeping his cool during those... especially when the other party was someone he expected better from. No, this pleasant little duty was for him alone to handle.

"Okay." Josh looked at his feet.

"You're absolutely sure of your source on this?" he asked again.

"Sure enough," Josh nodded soberly. "It ties together, Leo. If Bridges is leading McGann by the nose, it would have to be something big."

He sighed. "I just wish it wasn't this big."

Josh pulled a wry face in acknowledgement. "We're keeping this under wraps?" he asked after a moment.

"Until I get a chance to speak to him," Leo agreed. "If this is for real, they're gonna need to know, but... Let me speak to him first."

"Yeah."

There was another long pause, and Josh turned to go. He hesitated with his hand stretched towards the door, and looked back at the Chief of Staff. "Leo... how could he possibly be this stupid?"

Leo met his eyes. "People are sometimes," he said simply.

"Yeah." Josh's expression twisted bitterly. "Yeah."

He pulled open the door, and left.


	3. III

** III **

"Hey, CJ." Carol smiled at her as she entered the office.

"Hi, Carol. Did you find out what the Swedish Ambassador was shouting about?"

"We finally got his assistant on the line." Carol looked sympathetic. "She sounds like she's just about to snap and go on a rampage with the letter opener."

"Her and me both." CJ dropped into her chair. "What does he want?"

"He's missing his gold watch."

She pushed herself upright to stare at her assistant. "He what, he thinks he got pickpocketed in the White House?"

Carol shrugged slightly. "Last time he had it was at the dinner party on Tuesday. Apparently he wanted to call up and roast us for it yesterday, but his assistant convinced him to wait while they turned the hotel upside down looking for it. It's definitely missing."

CJ sighed heavily. "Great. Did we have somebody check the men's room?"

"We can do that."

"No, wait, cleaning crew would have found it by now." One thing you could say about working in the White House, the level of housekeeping was exemplary.

"Unless somebody picked it up," Carol offered tentatively. CJ covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, God, tell me no." The last thing they needed was an opportunistic thief at a White House dinner party. Even if the watch could be found and returned with minimal fuss, it was a public relations nightmare waiting to explode.

She made an effort to think positive. "Okay. He was totally off his head by the end of the party, so the odds are he did something stupid with it. Was it an expensive watch?"

Carol winced. "It was a present from his wife. Engraved."

She could feel a headache coming on. "Make it Sam's problem?" she pleaded.

"Okay," Carol smiled.

"Thank you." However, she knew, if Sam didn't find that watch pretty soon... it was going to be very much her problem.

* * *

The phone was ringing for long enough for him to begin to get worried before she finally picked up.

"Hello?"

"Zoey?" She sounded muffled and slightly confused, as if he'd just woken her.

"Charlie," she groaned, exasperated. "I told you not to make a fuss. You barely left ten minutes ago."

"Zoey, I've been gone for four hours," he corrected her worriedly.

"Oh?" There was a rustle of sheets. "I must have... fallen back asleep," she said, with a yawn in the middle.

"You sound terrible."

"Sweet-talker," she teased.

"Listen, are you gonna be all right? Because I could be back there in-"

"Charlie, I'm _fine_. I'll stay in bed," she offered, more compromise than she'd been willing to extend that morning.

"You should eat something," he chided anxiously.

"So I'll crawl to the fridge," she said impatiently.

"I should come home."

"You're at work, Charlie," she protested.

"I'll talk to your father about it," he said. The thought of his pregnant wife stubbornly stumbling about the place and getting dizzy... "I'll see if I can head home. Don't try to get up."

"Whatever," she mumbled, sounding too tired to argue further. He hung up worriedly, and walked in to see the president.

"Hey, Charlie." The president smiled at him, but he looked weary.

"Mr. President, are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah," he shrugged listlessly. "What's up?"

Charlie hesitated, suddenly second-guessing his instinct to rush home to Zoey; the president needed him too. "I spoke to Zoey on the phone, she's not feeling so good," he admitted. "I think she might have caught your cold."

"You should go see her," the president told him immediately.

"Mr. President-"

"Go home, Charlie. I'll be fine here." He smiled. "Go check on my baby girl."

"Okay," he acquiesced. "Thank you, sir. I'll try to get back as soon as-"

"If she needs you, stay," the president insisted. "I'll be fine, Charlie. Got a lot of other people looking after me. You go on home."

"Okay, sir."

He left, but his heart was torn. It was his job to look out for the president, it was his duty to look out for Zoey... and his love for both pulled him in two directions. What would happen when he had a baby son or baby daughter to look after, too?

He loved his job, and he loved every aspect of being a family man. He was deathly afraid, however, there would soon come a time when he would no longer be able to do both.

* * *

Sam wandered into the communications bullpen, frowning. "Hey, Toby. Do you remember anything about the Swedish Ambassador from the dinner party Tuesday night?"

"I wasn't there," Toby reminded him flatly.

"Hey, that's right," he recalled, and eyed him with some puzzlement. "Where were you?"

"At home."

His deputy started to smile. "With Andy?"

"Yes," he said tersely. Fortunately, Josh walked in before Sam could attempt to probe any further into his private life. The Deputy Communications Director swung around to face him.

"Hey, Josh, do you- no, wait, you weren't there either."

"Huh?" He blinked distractedly.

"At the party Tuesday night... You gave Danny your place, didn't you?" he remembered. "Where did you go, I didn't ask."

"I had some things to take care of," Josh said evasively. Toby studied him. This wasn't typical Josh 'I did something horrendously stupid and/or humiliating' misdirection; something was going on.

Sam threw up his hands. "Well, it's good to see we're embracing the concept of teamwork. Okay, fine. I will solve the mystery on my own. For I am a mystery solver."

When nobody bothered to respond, even sarcastically, he deflated somewhat.

"So I guess I'll just, you know. Go solve it in my office."

He disappeared into his office, closing the door. After a moment Toby sat forward, eyeing Josh pointedly.

"What's going on?" he demanded shortly.

He shook his head. "I can't tell you."

"Good, 'cause that never comes back to bite us in the ass," he noted dryly.

Josh tipped his head in wry acknowledgement. "It's... we have to be very sure about this," he said carefully.

"This is the leak?" Toby guessed.

"Indirectly."

"Okay."

There was a brief beat of silence.

"Would you say I have a depressing temperament?" Toby asked suddenly. Josh looked startled for a moment, and then laughed a little.

"Would I- what?"

"Andy thinks I'm depressing," he admitted. Josh narrowed his eyes concernedly.

"Toby, are you and Andy okay?"

"We're fine," he said, shrugging shortly.

They were fine. Andy might be convinced that he was never going to change, but he was prepared to prove her wrong. He knew she was trying to protect herself by breaking away from him, trying to make sure that she wasn't hurt again.

He'd hurt her before. He'd handled things badly, and he'd used up his second chances. But his priorities were different now, and he knew he _could_ do things the right way, if she only gave him a chance.

All he needed was to convince her just to give him one more chance.


	4. IV

** IV **

"Hey, Leo." Jed smiled at him tiredly, pulling off his glasses.

"Where's Charlie?" he asked with a frown as he took a seat.

"I sent him home," the president explained with a wave of his hand. "Zoey's sick, he wanted to check on her."

"Zoey's sick?"

"She's got the same damn bug I've got, by the sound of things. But she should have somebody there to look after her."

"So should you," Leo pointed out. "You want me to have Margaret send someone over from-?"

"I can look after myself for a few hours, Leo," he growled. "Just me, five secretaries, and eleven hundred staff in the building, I imagine we'll muddle along somehow."

Leo remained unfazed. "You should get some rest," he counselled.

"The First Lady's scheduled me some time this afternoon," Jed said, exasperated.

"Good."

The president looked across at him, meeting his eyes. "Leo, why is Josh wandering round looking like he's seen a ghost?" he asked quietly.

Leo grimaced. "Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you not to touch that."

"Leo-" he began warningly.

"I'll tell you when we know more," he promised. "But until we know where we stand on this, I really would prefer we keep it out of the Oval Office."

"Okay." He accepted that, but still looked troubled. Leo hoped beyond hope it would turn out to be some kind of tall tale or misunderstanding... But somehow, he had a sinking feeling that it wasn't.

* * *

Josh returned to his office and found Donna just crossing the bullpen on her way back. "Hey, where did you go?" he frowned.

"I had to arrange a delivery," she shrugged briefly. "What's up?"

He waited until they were in the office and the door was shut, and then leaned forward, hands flat on the desk. "I need you to pull everything we've got on Selena McGann."

"I already-"

"Everything," he cut her off. "Newspaper articles, memos, meeting minutes, absolutely everything that exists that has her name on, I want on this desk."

"That's gonna take some time," Donna warned him, recognising when it was a time to jettison the banter and just get on with the job.

He nodded. "Start with anything from the last year. You read anything about Joe Bridges or the technology bill, bring it right to me."

"Okay."

"And get me lunch sent up, please, I'm not gonna have time to go down and eat."

No bickering about diet or treating her like a slave today. "What do you want?"

He shook his head blankly. "It doesn't matter. Just have it sent up."

"Okay."

"Thank you."

She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. "Josh... what's going on?" she asked solemnly.

He didn't duck her gaze, but met it looking serious and sad. "I can't tell you that yet," he said apologetically.

"Okay." She nodded in understanding, and slipped out of the office to follow orders.

* * *

"Marsha!"

"Sam!" The middle-aged woman smiled warmly at him as he approached.

"I called down," he said, apologetic for interrupting her at work. "Brandy said -"

"It's fine, Sam," she said tolerantly, lighting her cigarette. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Sam smiled awkwardly. "Do you know who was responsible for clean-up after the dinner party Tuesday night?"

"Ted and Alice's crew," she answered instantly.

"They're trustworthy?"

"Every one." She eyed him shrewdly. "What went missing?"

He grimaced. "The Swedish Ambassador's lost his watch. Nobody found anything after the party?"

"Nope." She took a reflective puff of her cigarette.

"Great." He sighed. Marsha gave him a slight smile.

"And Sam, before you have to feel guilty for asking... I'd suspect that bunch that were in there partying of pickpocketing the guy before I'd pin it on one of my crew."

"Yeah." He chuckled slightly. "Me too. Thanks anyway, Marsha."

"Any time."

He headed back off towards the communications department with a frown. Checking in with the cleaning crew had been a long shot... but he'd had to indulge his last hopes of a simple solution. Nobody had found the watch, and the way the White House handled cleaning up after an event, that meant it wasn't there to be found.

And Marsha was right. If the watch _had_ been stolen, it was far more likely to have been lifted by one of the random assortment of VIPs than any of the White House's highly dedicated, comprehensively vetted staff.

The chances of getting out of this without a massive diplomatic incident were getting slimmer and slimmer.

* * *

She rolled her eyes exasperatedly at her husband. "You didn't need to come back, you know."

Charlie pretended to be offended. "Hey, I cooked your lunch for you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and I can honestly say these are the best microwave noodles I've ever had."

Actually, she couldn't honestly say that, because her sense of taste had gone south at the same time as her sense of smell, and swallowing anything was difficult when you had to breathe through your mouth at the same time. But still, she appreciated the thought.

"You shouldn't be all alone out here, Zoey," he said worriedly. "What if you got dizzy, or you passed out or something?"

"I'm not all alone, Charlie," she sighed. "I've got like, fifteen Secret Service agents in a room across the hall, and it's not like we're living in a shack in the middle of nowhere."

"Yeah, but how would they know it if you fell?" he persisted. She glared at him.

"Charlie, I'm _not_ carrying a panic button around in my own home!" she objected. Her freedom had been curtailed quite enough as it was, she wasn't about to start inviting the Secret Service in to take over those few aspects of her life she could still call relatively private.

He was giving her his annoyingly sensible 'I wish you'd listen to me' look. "You have to be careful, Zoey, you can't-"

"Jeez! It's a cold!" she snapped. "And considering I know for a fact I got it off my dad, it's been officially certified a cold by at least three White House doctors by now. Why is it everything's suddenly supposed to be fatal when I'm pregnant? I'm not-"

She broke off, and shrugged sullenly; partly because she was becoming short of breath, and partly because the angry comparison she'd been about to draw about being treated like an invalid made her think of her father. He had people fussing around every cough and sneeze for altogether more serious reasons. People might worry about her 'delicate condition', but he really _did_ have a delicate condition, and the slightest hint of an encroaching fever was grounds for worry.

She stirred her noodles with a fork, suddenly even less hungry than she'd been before. "Can we just- Can we just eat lunch, without arguing about it?" she sighed.

"Okay."

Charlie shrugged and surrendered, and for a while they ate in silence. Or rather, Charlie managed silence. Zoey was unable to stop herself from sniffing, wheezing, coughing, and generally sounding like a plague victim.

She looked up to see if her husband was going to make a smart comment, and saw with amusement that not only was he not watching her... he was very nearly asleep. Too many late nights at the office were obviously catching up, and if he slumped forward any further, he was about to end up with his face in a plate of noodles.

Tempting, but... "Charlie." She prodded his shoulder pointedly. "Charlie! Wake up. You've got to go back to work!"

"What? Oh." He shook himself out of it, and blinked. Zoey giggled.

"Charlie, you just fell asleep."

"Oh. Wow." He staggered upright, rubbing his face. She pulled a face at him.

"Maybe _you're_ the one who should be staying in bed, not me," she chided, playful but somewhat serious too.

"No, I've got to get back..." He yawned and stretched. "It's warm in here, that's what it is, I turned the heat up before I left."

"You're exhausted, that's what it is. Charlie, you've got to stop pulling all these late nights," she said worriedly.

He looked resigned. "I know that, Zoey, but your father needs me. He's not well right now, and things have been pretty rough-"

"Yeah." Things had been pretty rough for a long time now, so it seemed. "All right. You should get going."

"Yeah."

She smiled at him. "I'd kiss you goodbye, but you might catch something."

He grinned back. "Between you and the president, if I'm gonna get it, I've already got it." He leaned across and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you tonight. Be careful!"

Zoey shook her head at him. "What are you gonna do when I actually give birth?" she wondered rhetorically.

"Panic," said Charlie, with feeling. He smiled. "I'll see you tonight."

"Okay. Goodbye, Charlie. Don't fall asleep at work!" she called after him.

The door slammed, and suddenly she felt exhausted all over again. Charlie might be babying her to an unnecessary degree... but perhaps a little more sleep wouldn't be such a bad idea, after all.

She crawled back to the bedroom to curl up.


	5. V

** V **

Abbey waited in the Residence for her husband to come and join her. He walked in - and abruptly stopped dead as he saw what was on the couch.

"What's _that_?" he demanded, in tones of utter bafflement. She gave him a wry look.

"Don't be shy, honey, I'm sure your powers of deductive reasoning are up to the task."

He stared at her, blue eyes confused. "It's a kitten!"

"Well done, babe," she said dryly.

"You got a kitten?" he asked incredulously.

Abbey smiled and leaned towards him. "No. _You_ just got yourself a kitten," she corrected.

"You think I have time to look after a kitten?"

"Other people live in this house, Jed," she pointed out wryly. "Pets are good for your stress levels."

"Yeah, 'cause that's exactly how it worked when the kids got kittens," he noted sarcastically.

"Stroking an animal is very therapeutic." She smiled. "Besides - don't you think it's about time we had a First Pet around the place?"

"I don't want a kitten," he pouted. "A kitten is not good for my image. If we were going to get a First Pet - which I don't recall ever being invited to discuss, let alone agreeing to - it should be a big bouncy dog. It's more presidential."

"Yeah, right up until the press gets the first pictures of said big bouncy dog knocking you on your ass," she smirked. "We can't look after a dog, Jed."

"We can't look after a cat!" he protested.

"Oh, I'm sure you two will do just fine together."

"Oh, no." He narrowed his eyes at her. "We are not keeping the kitten! No! I don't know where you got it from, but-"

"Don't shout, babe, you'll frighten him." Their feline guest had got to his feet, and was negotiating his way somewhat unsteadily across the couch cushions towards her husband. Upon reaching the obstacle of the arm of the chair, he sniffed it and mewed plaintively.

Jed looked down at the kitten. The kitten looked back at him. Both looked equally befuddled. Abbey smirked and stood up. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted. I've got to get changed."

Her husband was a soft touch when it came to animals; she'd learned that soon enough when the children were still small. Present the mere idea of getting a pet, and he'd argue against it with every trick at his disposal, but dump something small and fluffy into his lap, and he was utterly defenceless against it. Protest though he might, it had been too late for him to give up the kitten the minute he'd clapped eyes on it.

She hadn't been able to resist it when she'd learned that Donna's friend had a cat needing a home. It seemed like just what her husband needed; a little unconditional love from a pet would surely help to ease the heavy burden he was currently carrying. And besides - though he wouldn't be comfortable to admit it - Jed was a man who was never happy unless he had something to cuddle. He got desperately lonely when she and the girls were away from him, and he thrived on physical contact; no doubt, she thought darkly, all thanks to that godawful loveless home he'd grown up in.

Jed had always had an affinity for animals, just as he did with small children. Perhaps there was something in that kind of uncomplicated, unconditional affection he was still aching for after growing up without it.

She was sure this was going to turn out to have been one of her better ideas.

Abbey shrugged on a fresh blouse, and walked back into the next room. Jed was lying stretched out on the couch, with the kitten happily curled up on his stomach.

He shot her a baleful look. "All right - but it's _your_ kitten," he glowered. She just smirked knowingly.

"Whatever you say, babe."

* * *

"...And we're very optimistic about Congressman Daltrey's new pilot scheme. Any questions?"

Chris cautiously raised a hand. "CJ... any comment on reports that the president was... a little drunk... after the dinner party on Tuesday?"

The press all pricked their ears up with interest. Thank God she was good at keeping a straight face - and that the press pool hadn't been invited. The only one there had been Danny, and he'd been too busy following her around and bugging her for a dance to notice the president's mild inebriation.

She pasted on a smoothly amused smile. "Well, Chris, I think you might want to check if your source on that was knocking back a few himself; no, the president was not drunk. He does, however, have a slight cold, which is why the dinner party was drawn to an early conclusion. If anybody thinks he was looking a trifle glassy-eyed, it was probably more to do with trying not to sneeze than the effect of how much champagne he'd ingested."

Or a combination of both. The president had indeed not been drinking very much at the dinner party, but what he _had_ taken in hadn't reacted well with his cold medication. Of course, he didn't have the greatest track record with medication in the first place... She thought back to the time in their first year when he'd wandered in to a meeting completely off his head on back pills.

Funny how hindsight leeched much of the humour out if it when you realised it could well have been the weakening effect of his MS that made his system so susceptible to them.

Katie raised a hand, looking vaguely apologetic even as she did it.

"Katie."

"Any worries about-?"

"None at all." She cut that off before it started, having anticipated the question the moment she mentioned the president's health. "He's been seen by several doctors, and they're happy to vouch that this is nothing more than a common cold. He has no fever, and aside from a little good old-fashioned coughing and sneezing, his health is not unduly impaired." She smiled slightly to herself. "He will, however, be refraining from any comments about the weather being 'crisp' for the foreseeable future."

That got a ripple of good-natured laughter, and she relaxed as the risk of yet more MS column inches was swept away. If the president's dip in health merited a mention - and such meaningless minutiae of their leader's existence usually did - she'd given them the lightly teasing angle to render it harmless.

A familiar smirk was attached to one of the newly raised hands. "Danny."

"CJ... I'm hearing that the Swedish ambassador's missing an engraved gold watch of great sentimental value."

Damn the man! How did he always find these things? She kept her tone coolly professional.

"Yes, he called the White House early this morning, and naturally we're doing everything within our power to make sure it's returned to him. If there's any possibility it was misplaced while he was still in the building, our staff will be turning the place upside-down to make sure it's found and restored to its owner as quickly as possible."

Time to cut it off, before the inevitable questions about whether it could have been a theft and what they'd do if it had been.

"Okay, that's it for now, folks, see you all this evening."

She left the podium. On her way past Danny, she stopped to glower at him. "I'm remembering now exactly why I find you so annoying."

"Thank you!" he said cheerfully. She swept on past him and out into the corridor.

"Carol, find Sam, and find out what he's doing about this watch?" she requested. "If we don't find it soon, it's going to be a major issue."

* * *

"Thanks, Donna." Josh took the latest batch of files without looking up, sipping from his coffee as he added them to the already towering stack at his side. Donna leaned against the doorway and watched him for a moment as he worked.

He made several scrawled notes and turned pages, then seemed to register her continuing presence. He looked up, and gave her a small smile.

Taking that as confirmation he didn't object to her lingering, she pulled the door closed and moved over to the desk. "Can I help?"

Josh sighed, and brushed a hand back through his tousled hair. "I don't know," he said wearily. "I should probably look this stuff over myself."

She sat on the corner of his desk. "Ash told you McGann's the leak?"

"Yeah." He sighed heavily. Donna was puzzled.

"Why would she do that?" Selena McGann was no wide-eyed idealist, that was true, but it still didn't make sense for her to sabotage her own carefully shepherded bill.

Josh grimaced. "It seems that Joe Bridges has been doing a little insider vote trading."

"Blackmail?"

He nodded. "He wanted McGann to drop us in it after it was all signed and sealed, so she leaked the details of the deal before it could happen. I don't know if Bridges knows it was her, but he got most of what he wanted anyway, so he's still laughing."

She frowned. "What was he blackmailing her with?"

Josh sighed. After a moment, he picked up one of the file folders at his sideand removed a photograph. He slid it across the desk to her. "What do you see?"

Donna leaned in curiously. At first it seemed like your average photo-op at some meet and greet or other, nothing remotely unusual. Then she paid closer attention to who Selena McGann was standing next to... and just the slightest hint of something more than friendly in the body language. She gasped, and looked up at Josh.

"They're not-?"

"They are," he answered flatly.

"Oh." Suddenly, she understood why Josh had been in a sombre mood all morning. And why he seemed to be taking this so personally. "Oh. Then this is going to be-"

"Yeah," he said softly.

This was going to be big. Very big.


	6. VI

** VI **

"Hey, Toby." Sam wandered into his superior's office, and closed the door. Toby raised his eyes to him over the top of his laptop.

He sat down uninvited on the edge of the desk. "What's going on with Josh and Leo?"

Toby somehow conveyed a shrug without actually moving his shoulders. "I'm not inside of that loop."

"And you're not curious?" he demanded.

"In my experience, the loop generally widens to include us and everybody else in a ten mile radius, and then we wish it hadn't."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You know, you've become very cranky of late, Toby," he chided.

His boss gave him a look. "And this surprises you how?"

He lightly dropped down from the tabletop. "I'm just saying."

"Well, don't. In fact, don't say anything. Depart my office area. Cease to bother me."

"Fine," he shrugged easily, and wandered back out into the bullpen. He approached Bonnie and Ginger. "What's up with Toby? He seems kinda moody."

Ginger blinked at him. "Something needs to be up with Toby for him to be moody?"

Sam shrugged as he sat down. "I don't know, he just seems- Do you know if something's up with him and Andy?" Toby was hardly the most forthcoming about his love life no matter where it happened to be going, but Sam was sure he'd detected something in the air in recent days. Toby's default position was terse and surly, but he was even further off in that direction than usual, and other than the mysterious problem that was occupying Leo and Josh, he couldn't think of anything work-related that could be behind it.

Bonnie frowned as she passed by with a sheaf of paperwork. "Andy seemed pretty upset when she was here the other day," she offered. "I think Nikki's worried about her, too."

"Who's Nikki?" Sam wondered, twisting around to follow her progress across the bullpen.

"Andy's assistant," she reminded him.

"Hmm." He nodded to himself. Yes, it seemed his suspicions had been right, although what use it was to him to know that was debatable. Playing relationship counsellor to Toby Ziegler was not a job to be taken on by the faint-hearted.

He was still trying to figure out whether or not he was faint-hearted when Carol arrived.

"Sam?" she smiled cautiously. "Any progress on the watch thing? CJ's going through the roof."

He grimaced. "Marsha Mantell says her cleaning crews haven't seen it, and for what it's worth, I believe them."

"I know Marsha," Bonnie volunteered.

"She's good people," chimed in Ginger.

"Yeah."

"You think it was stolen by one of the guests, then?" Carol asked him.

Sam sighed heavily. "It's certainly starting to look like it," he agreed with a groan. He stood up. "I guess I'd better go talk this over with CJ, figure out our next move."

* * *

Donna wandered through the bullpen, troubled. Once again, there was a scandal threatening to loom large over the administration... Once again, she knew about it earlier than a lot of other people - some of them higher up the chain of command than her.

It was an odd and rather isolated position she kept finding herself in. She was not one of the senior staff, not even senior among the assistants, but Josh relied on her so much more than the others did on their assistants that she had to know things earlier. And then that left her the only one at assistant level in the loop, which led to her being drafted into all sorts of operations...

She supposed it was a sign of favour and advancement, but it bothered her because she didn't feel like she'd earned it. She wasn't Donnatella Moss, assistant who was so useful she got cut in on all the major plans, she was Donnatella Moss, who got cut in on all the major plans because Josh was hopeless without her.

"Donna!" She turned as a smiling First Lady hurried towards her. Talking of being part of unlikely operations...

At least this one, she felt she had sufficient qualifications for.

"Ma'am! Did he-?"

"The delivery was a great success," she smirked. "The kitten is installed in the Oval Office. And, much as my husband may kvetch and complain about it, by this point you couldn't take the thing away from him at gunpoint."

She had to smile. "He likes the kitten?"

"Oh, he's hopeless, Donna, hopeless. Show him something small and fluffy with big eyes, and he'll immediately try to take it home and mother it. He's not safe to take past a zoo, I'll tell you that now. There's a reason we don't let him do photo-ops with animals."

Donna smirked. "I thought that was Leo's decision, after the penguin that-?"

"Yes, well, that too." The First Lady smiled. "He'd be dangerous if you let him loose with anything bigger than a cat, you know what a klutz he is. No, a kitten is about his limit." She grew more serious. "It'll be good for him, I think," she said softly. "His children are all grown and starting families of their own, and I can't be here as much as I want to... He needs something to make this place feel more like a home."

She was silent for a moment, and Donna glimpsed the rarely seen woman underneath the tough and elegant mask of the First Lady. Abigail Bartlet loved her husband very much... and she was worried sick about him.

Abbey raised her head, and offered the younger woman a fragile smile. "It'll be good for him," she said again. "There aren't enough things making him happy in his life right now... and he needs all the comfort he can get."

Donna could only smile and nod, the weight of what Josh had just told her sitting like a bitter-flavoured stone in her gut. There could well be another big political explosion coming the president's way - and none of them were sure right now he could stand to have a greater burden on his shoulders.

* * *

He made an effort to shake off the rest of his tiredness as he reentered the White House; the president would need him to be at the top of his efficiency. Charlie shrugged off his jacket at his desk, and walked into the Oval Office to make his boss aware of his return.

The sight he was greeted with gave him momentary pause.

"Sir?"

"Hello, Charlie." His father-in-law gave him an absent nod, the majority of his attention still focused on the small black and white kitten that was happily roaming along the top of the Kennedy desk, rubbing up against the corners of the photo frames. Charlie could already think of several ways that could end in disaster, and rather hoped it wouldn't turn out to be his responsibility to deal with them should they arise.

"I leave you alone for _five minutes_, Mr. President, I come back and you've got a kitten?" he said incredulously.

The president scowled. "It's Abbey's kitten, not mine. Nobody asked me if I wanted a damn-" The kitten butted his hand insistently, and instantly his tone shifted into utter delight. "Did you see that? Hey, fella... Hey, fella, come here. Do that again. I'm over here."

Well, Charlie reflected, shaking his head, at least the president seemed happier than he had in a while. However, it rather appeared his responsibilities had just expanded to include handling the president acting like a big kid... and, he had a sinking suspicion, cat-wrangling.

Some days, he wondered how the hell he'd ever ended up in this job.

* * *

"Mr. Vice President? Leo McGarry."

"Okay. Thank you, Janine." John put down the report he'd been reading through and straightened up.

Relations between him and the White House Chief of Staff, while always fractious, had certainly warmed over somewhat since the shocking revelation that Leo had slipped off the wagon for several months last year. He'd gained a new appreciation for the bond of loyalty between this man and his beloved president, and that in turn had made both of them more comprehensible in his dealings with them. He still found the kind of near hero- worship with which the Bartlet camp regarded their president somewhat difficult to stomach... but he was beginning to understand that perhaps somewhere in the centre, there was a kernel of reason behind it.

Of course, he'd always been forced to acknowledge that Jed Bartlet was a man worthy of admiration - and that, in a strange way, made playing second fiddle to him all the more galling. If he'd lost out to a truly unworthy opponent, there was refuge to be found in contempt and cynicism, but losing to a good man left him in the uncomfortable position of being second and wondering whether that was exactly where he'd deserved to come.

And losing to a good man who'd concealed an Achilles Heel that might have cost him that victory... That had taken him a long, long time to come to terms with. Even if the American people had shown their faith in him by electing Bartlet for a second term, John Hoynes would never entirely forget the election that had been won under false pretences... or the deal he'd signed up for that had fallen by the wayside.

It was hard, to know that you should have won, but the man who'd stolen your victory might be using it better than you could.

But that was water under the bridge, at least in the eyes of the Bartlet administration, and whatever reason Leo might be here had nothing to do with any of that. "Leo," he greeted with a bright smile as the shorter man walked in.

"Mr. Vice President," Leo nodded stiffly. Leo McGarry was a man who stood rigidly on the formalities of office. He'd known Jed Bartlet for decades, but John had never heard him call him anything but 'Mr. President' or 'sir'.

John walked around the desk to join him. "Janine said you and Josh have been trying to get hold of me," he noted. "What's up?"

Leo failed to relax out of his formal posture, and John could feel his attempts at good cheer draining away. There was a confrontation brewing.

"We've recently come into possession of some information that, frankly, we find pretty troubling. And-" He interrupted himself. "Mr. Vice President, I'm afraid I have to ask you an awkward question."

He could have laughed, but not with any humour in it.

Awkward questions? When had the Bartlet administration brought him anything but?

"Then perhaps you'd better go ahead and ask it," he said, voice noticeably cooler. Leo was a straight-talker, and John Hoynes had little patience for prevarication. Whatever the hell this was, they might as well get it out in the open.

Leo was silent for a long moment, looking at the floor - not with any aura of guilt or awkwardness, but as if he was gathering himself for whatever he was about to start. Finally, he raised his head, and looked the Vice President in the eye.

"John, I have to ask you... are you having an affair with Selena McGann?"

For a long moment, he stood frozen. And then he exploded.


	7. VII

** VII **

"Any luck?" Sam shook his head, and CJ sighed resignedly. Great. If a miracle solution hadn't popped up this soon, the chances of it materialising at all were getting steadily slimmer.

Sam came over to sit beside her, and rubbed his beard. "You really think it might have been stolen?"

"Barring the Swedish Ambassador running the world's most audacious insurance scam, it's starting to look like it," she grimaced. "But if it _was_ stolen, what chance have we got of ever finding the thief?"

"Any disreputable characters in the room?" Sam wondered with a frown. She gave him a sideways look.

"The Swedish Ambassador?"

"Aside from him."

"It was a room full of politicians, diplomats, and the Washington social elite, Sam."

"So, all of them?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Well, so far, I've ruled out you, me, Leo and the president," she sighed.

"And Steve," he offered.

"And Charlie."

"And the First Lady."

Well, there you go. Seven down, eighty-six to go. What were we worried about?"

Sam sighed, and rubbed his head. "You know, it would have helped if the ambassador had actually been sober enough to even notice when it went missing, instead of calling up and bawling us out thirty-six hours later."

"And you would have done what?" she wondered wryly. "Strip-searched the entire guest list?"

He smirked. "As plans go, it has a certain appeal." A thought struck him. " Provided I didn't have to do it personally."

CJ snickered. "There's not enough money in the world to persuade me to strip- search some of the people in that room, Sam."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Not even Danny?"

"Samuel-"

It was probably fortunate for the Deputy Communications Director's continued health that Carol knocked on the door just then. "CJ?"

She sat forward. "What's up, Carol?"

Her assistant pulled a wry face. "The Swedish Ambassador called again. He's sober now, and fully in charge of his faculties - and he's hopping mad with it. He's given us a deadline. If we don't get that watch back to him by Friday night when his wife gets here, he's going straight to the papers saying it was stolen while he was in the White House."

CJ sighed, and dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, happy day."

* * *

The Vice President stared at him, hands balled into frustrated fists. He restrained himself from any more physical expression of anger, but he made no such effort to keep his voice free of it.

"Leo, just what in the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he demanded harshly.

Leo looked him in the eye, and repeated the question. "Mr. Vice President, _are_ you having an affair with Selena McGann?"

"I ought to-"

"We just lost a major deal because Joe Bridges is holding something over her head," he continued bluntly, "and we have reason to believe it's you."

Hoynes' shoulders slumped visibly. He was silent for a long moment, looking at the floor, before he raised his head. "For a time, there was-"

"God, John-" he snarled in exasperation.

"_For a time_, I was seeing Selena McGann. I'm not any more."

"How long since?" Leo demanded matter-of-factly.

His face darkened. "I don't see how that's any of your-"

"Damned _straight_ it's my business, how long since?"

Hoynes sighed shortly. "Six months."

Leo screwed up his face in disgust. "So you carried on seeing her half a year _after_ Joe Bridges rumbled the two of you?"

He frowned in confusion. "Joe Bridges doesn't-"

"He knows, John. He's known for a year, and he's been holding it over Selena's head for God knows how long. What the hell do you think happened to your technology bill?"

For a moment the Vice President stared at him blankly, then understanding slammed into place. "Son of a-!"

"Yeah." Leo glared at him. "Jesus, John, what the hell is going on here? You're not this stupid, I _know_ you're not this stupid, so why don't you just cut the crap and tell me what the hell kind of game it is you think you're playing here?"

The two men glowered at each other in angry silence.

* * *

Jed looked up at the tentative creak of the Oval Office door. A rumpled and tired- looking Josh hovered uncertainly. "Charlie was already gone, I just-"

"Come in, Josh," he nodded kindly, putting his papers aside. Josh stepped in and closed the door.

"I just wanted to- Yah!" The Deputy Chief of Staff leapt backwards in alarm as the small ball of black and white fur curled up on the sofa suddenly opened its eyes and blinked up at him.

"It's a cat, Josh," the president told him with a wry smile.

There was a long, uneasy silence, as Josh regarded the wide-eyed feline warily. "Why is it staring at me?"

"Probably because you just shrieked."

The younger man edged across to join the president, continuing to eye the tiny kitten as if it might be planning to leap across the room and rip his throat out at any moment. "Why is there... a cat... in the Oval Office?" he asked gingerly.

Jed sucked in a slow breath, more of an effort than usual while his throat was still congested. "That's a question I've been asking myself, but apparently it has something to do with the First Lady having a crackpot theory that a pet would be good for my blood pressure."

Josh shuffled around until he was standing behind the president's shoulder, presumably safely shielded there from the wrath of flying attack kittens. "Is that... Donna's roommate's kitten?" he wondered anxiously.

"Ah-hah!" Jed abruptly sat upright, a piece of the puzzle falling into place. "A conspiracy!" He leaned his head back to look at Josh. "The women of this White House are conspiring against me!"

"To fill the place with kittens?" Josh appeared to find this a genuinely daunting prospect. Jed looked up at him wryly.

"Was there a reason you came in here, Josh?"

"Oh. Yes, sir." If anything, _more_ colour drained from his face as he shifted away from the prospect of a potential White House cat invasion back to business. "Just to tell you- You wanted to talk to Leo, he already left."

"Well, where is he?" Jed narrowed his eyes concernedly. With anybody else, at this hour, he'd just assume they'd taken off for home - but not Leo.

Josh continued to look uncharacteristically serious. "He's meeting with the Vice President."

"What about?" Jed demanded. Josh looked down at the floor.

"I'd... rather not say just yet, Mr. President," he admitted.

Jed never liked those sorts of answers... but he supposed they were better than having his staff lie to his face.

"Okay," he said softly, nodding. He swallowed, and that caused him to cough dryly; Josh looked up worriedly.

"Sir, are you-?"

"I'm fine."

Nonetheless, he crossed to the desk and retrieved Jed's glass of water for him. He took it gratefully, welcoming the refreshment even if it was so icy cold it almost hurt to swallow. "Thank you." He looked up. "You can go now, Josh."

"Okay. Thank you." Josh looked hesitant, but nobody lingered after a presidential dismissal. "Goodnight, Mr. President."

"Goodnight, Josh."

Jed waited until the younger man was gone to let out the second round of coughing that had gradually been building, standing up before it doubled him over. He drained the glass and set it back on the edge of the desk, wandering over to sit down beside the kitten. He scratched it absently between its ears, smiling at the high-pitched purr this soon produced.

"Looks like something else is about to go wrong, there, buddy," he observed quietly. "Don't suppose you have any idea what that was about?"

The kitten just purred, and butted his fingers. He found it strangely comforting.


	8. VIII

** VIII **

Josh's light was still on, but CJ guessed that tonight was not a good night to disturb him. Instead, she wandered on to the communications department, and lingered in Toby's open doorway. It took him several moments to look up from his typing to acknowledge her.

"Something's in the air," she noted.

He gave a minimalist shrug, but held her gaze, eyes dark in the half-light.

"What's got Josh and Leo worried?"

He shrugged again. "Nothing they're talking about." She nodded grimly.

"Business as usual, I guess." These days, it seemed like you couldn't go a matter of weeks before something else nasty cropped up to monopolise worried attentions. She sighed, and changed the subject.

"How's Andy?"

"She turned down my proposal," Toby told her matter-of-factly. She blinked, startled, and restrained the automatic giggle because it didn't seem quite right to let it loose.

"Toby, you proposed?"

"I've been doing some thinking."

He didn't volunteer more than that, but then he didn't need to. She understood all too well. Their time in government was passing, and too many crises in too short a time left you thinking troubling thoughts about exactly what you'd have left if it all went to hell.

What would she have left? A few lines on a résumé, and a goldfish that was surely well advanced in fishy years. For a moment she thought wistfully of Danny, but she consigned that thought to the same drawer she'd been so practised at shoving it into years before. Maybe there was something there... but it was nothing that could be thought about until their years in office were done and dusted.

Toby flicked his gaze up to meet hers. "Am I unduly depressing?" he asked; with Toby, such a thing was a genuine request for an opinion, not an empty seeking of reassurance. She smiled.

"Well, yes you are, there, Toby, but it's all part of your charm." CJ tilted her head to the side, regarding him. "That's why Andy doesn't want to get remarried?"

"She does," he corrected. "She only thinks she doesn't."

She gave a soft, supportive smile, and wondered if that was the famous Ziegler insight, or the infamous Ziegler stubbornness talking. She wondered if Toby himself knew the difference.

"You're going to convince her otherwise?"

"I'm going to make my case," he stated simply.

Perhaps he was only fooling himself... but who was she to advise against it? She straightened up. "Well, the best of luck with that, Tobe," she said quietly, without sarcasm.

* * *

Leo sighed, breaking the atmosphere of confrontation. He rubbed his face tiredly, and looked up. "Does Suzanne know?"

Hoynes smiled sadly. "She knows," he said quietly. "Not about Selena, but... she knows."

Despite himself, and his compassion for a woman he knew as little more than a hanger-on to her husband's elbow at the kind of party where it was necessary to have one's wife at one's elbow, he couldn't help but feel a small flame of sympathy for Hoynes as well. Nobody won, in a marriage where the only things holding it together were politics and force of habit.

And who was he to judge? He might not have left Jenny for other women's arms, but for drink and later his love for the man who'd saved him from it... but really, could he call that any better? He'd let her down. They'd been in love, once, and he'd let her down.

It was disappointment in himself as much as in Hoynes that fuelled his anger; he recognised as much, but that didn't blunt it. "What were you _thinking_, John?" he demanded again. "Did you really think you wouldn't get caught?"

Hoynes grimaced in frustration. "I wasn't- I don't know what I was thinking."

"Neither do I, but I know what you were thinking _with_!" he retorted.

The Vice President rounded on him as if he was about to lash out, but then the expression melted away, and he just looked anguished. "It's... Jesus, Leo, I don't know." He wandered away, pushing his hands back through his hair. "This has been hard time for me, Leo. This past few years have been hard for me."

"Well, boo hoo for you. The President of the United States just went through hell in front of the nation's media, his son-in-law nearly got murdered for being the wrong colour, and Josh Lyman got his guts ripped out on national TV by our nation's political leaders for the audacity of actually still feeling the aftereffects of being shot in the chest, so why don't you tell me what a tough few years you've been having?"

Hoynes just looked weary. "Politics is my _life_, Leo. I've worked for this all my _life_. And to see it all fading away..."

Leo could have mustered some sympathy for his position - John Hoynes had worked patiently all his life towards building his presidency, then seen it snatched away not once but twice by Jed Bartlet just as it came within his grasp - but the force of his anger was hotter. "So screwing around on your wife made it all better? Good for you."

"It wasn't _about_ that, Leo," he snapped, a flare of anger returning.

"Then what was it about?"

"I just wanted- I don't know what I wanted. I wanted _out_, Leo. I wanted to..." He shook his head slowly.

"You were _trying_ to get caught out?" Leo wondered incredulously.

"I just didn't care, Leo!" he shouted. His shoulders slumped, and he continued more quietly. "I didn't care. I didn't think it mattered what I did. I didn't think any of it really mattered."

Leo remained coolly collected, lips pressed together in an emotionless line. " And then what? You just suddenly changed your mind?"

"Things changed," Hoynes said quietly. "The president, you... everything that's happened. I started realising that... I'm needed here. There's such a weight that's on his shoulders, if anything should happen-"

Leo grimaced unhappily. "You picked a fine time to have an epiphany." Salvaging the Vice Presidency from the revelation of an extra-marital affair would be an uphill struggle enough, but if news of blackmail surrounding it ever emerged...

"I know, Leo, I-" He wasn't stupid enough to try and say he was sorry. "I screwed up."

"This is a _mess_, John," he said bluntly. "A real mess."

Hoynes shook his head slowly, but not in denial. "I wasn't thinking clearly," was all he offered by way of mitigation.

"Yeah," Leo said quietly. He knew what that was like.

Of all people, he should know what that was like.

He looked up, and met the taller man's eyes. "We'll fix this, John," he said softly, done with accusations for the night. "Don't worry about it."

Hoynes snorted, and gave a bitter, disbelieving smile. "You can't fix this, Leo. I screwed up, and when it's time to take the fall, I'll pay the price."

"Nobody's taking a fall, John," he refuted. "We caught this, we'll fix it. This is not gonna take you down."

"And if it turns out not to be so easy to fix?" he challenged.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Leo said simply.

Hoynes shook his head. "I won't take anybody down with me. This was my mistake, and whatever happens, happens to me alone."

He didn't bother to argue further. "We'll talk again tomorrow. Goodnight, John."

He left the Vice President sitting alone with his thoughts.

* * *

"Hey, Zoey, are you all right?" Her husband's worried voice rung out at almost the exact same instant she heard the key in the lock. Zoey would have rolled her eyes, except that the feeling of pressure inside her head warned that this might be painful.

"I'm fine," she called, exasperated, albeit muffled. Charlie hurried into the bedroom, and made a dismayed face as he saw the state of her. He sat down on the corner of the bed, and leaned over to feel her forehead worriedly.

"Do you feel feverish?"

"What are you, my doctor? No, I just feel... bunged up and... horrible," she grumbled.

Charlie straightened up, shrugging off his jacket. "You want me to get you some juice? Some water or something? I could make soup-"

"I ate already. I _did_!" she protested when he looked sceptical. Well, staggering out of bed for a slice and a half of toast counted, right? She wouldn't have bothered to force herself to eat that if it hadn't been for the baby. It had been a lot like chewing cardboard, only considerably more difficult to swallow.

"Okay." He looked down at her in concern. "Do you want me to get another blanket? Or I could move the heater in here, if you-"

"Charlie!" She rolled away from him in disgust. "Could you just quit _fussing_ for a couple of minutes-?"

He immediately looked guilty. "I just-"

"Look, I just- I don't want any of that stuff," she sighed. She'd spent the day in bed, and Charlie was still rushing about, trying to do things for her, even though he was plainly exhausted. "I just want to cuddle and go to sleep."

"Okay." He pulled off his shoes and flopped down on the bed beside her. "I'll get changed in just a minute," he told her, but he yawned as he said it.

In a matter of seconds, he was asleep in his clothes.


	9. IX

** IX **

"Hey. Beer?"

"Oh, thanks." Sam twisted around to accept the proffered bottle as Steve crossed over to join him. He flopped down on the couch and frowned at the muted TV.

"What are you watching?"

"I have no idea," he had to admit. They watched a vaguely familiar actor shouting at a seedy-looking character across an interrogation table.

"I sense he's a hot-headed maverick cop who perpetually disobeys orders yet somehow always gets his man," Steve observed dryly. "And look, here comes the cold yet sexy female defence attorney." He looked sideways at his boyfriend. "Now, come, Samuel, tell me what grand thoughts could possibly be distracting you from this slice of quality late-night entertainment."

Sam smirked and leaned back with a yawn. "Oh, just the Swedish Ambassador."

"Pining for his company?"

He chuckled. "No, he's just causing yet another diplomatic incident. Unfortunately, this one might actually be our fault."

"What happened?"

He rubbed his head. "His gold watch disappeared at the party Tuesday night. It was a present from his wife, and she's flying in tomorrow night. He's getting ready to raise a stink about it."

"He thinks he was pickpocketed in the White House?" Steve laughed incredulously. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I don't know what he thinks. But if we don't get this watch back to him, it's about to be the media's turn to start speculating."

"Well, do you have any suspects?"

"Yeah, we think the Transportation Secretary did it," he said sarcastically. "We've had him on our list ever since we noticed how he always takes two or three of those little packets of sugar in the mess when he only needs one."

Steve nodded towards the TV. "If you were that guy, you'd just leap into the room and start slapping people until one of them gave you an answer."

"Yeah, that should go down well," he noted wryly. You couldn't move two steps at a White House function without tripping over fifteen different layers of protocol and diplomacy. How were you supposed to find a thief - if there even was one - in the middle of that?

His boyfriend was, apparently, still living some detective show fantasy. "What you need to do is retrace his footsteps. What did he do at the party?"

"Drink champagne, mostly." Sam frowned. "I didn't see who he was with most of the night, I was too busy watching the president." President Bartlet, despite not having taken in nearly as much alcohol as many of the guests of honour, had ended up alarmingly tipsy after a bad reaction with his cold medicine. They'd hustled him out of the room without anybody being the wiser, but it hadn't left much room for paying attention to anything else.

Especially after his boyfriend had decided to freak him out by pronouncing a swaying, bright-eyed, over-enthusiastically friendly president to be 'cute'.

"He was with that girl he was eyeing up most of the night," Steve recalled. Sam frowned.

"What girl?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know who these people are. Blonde girl. In the green dress with the-" He made a vague gesture towards his shoulders.

"The-?" Sam echoed the gesture, eyebrows raised. Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Hey, I'm gay, I'm not a fashion designer. You tell me what those things are called."

"I don't even know what-" he made the gesture again- "are supposed to be."

"Well, a lot of good you are." Steve absently draped his arm over Sam's neck, and sipped his beer. "Planning on staying out here all night?"

He tipped his head towards the TV. "Hey, I want to see how this ends."

"Ten bucks says there's a big shoot-out in a warehouse, and the guy in the hat's dead before the next commercial break."

Sam grinned back. "Throw in a show of grudging support from the cold yet sexy defence attorney, and you're on."

They slouched down together to drink beer and watch bad late-night TV.

* * *

Abbey walked out to regard him with some exasperation. "Are you coming to bed, babe?"

"In a second." Jed leaned forward again to re-adjust the positioning of the kitten's water bowl.

"Jed, you already picked him up and put his nose in it, I'm sure he'll be able to find it."

He remained worried. "This is a big room. And he's only a little kitten. What if he gets lost? Or trapped? Or scared?" The White House was surely no place for a tiny kitten, still finding its feet. Even the more homely confines of the Residence were still spacious and intimidating.

"I'm sure he'll start howling quick enough if he gets in any trouble," Abbey dismissed. She crossed over to kiss him on the cheek, and gave him a long-suffering look. "I'll be in bed."

"Okay." He regarded his new pet with a concerned frown as she walked through into the bedroom. "You know," he told the cat, "you might be her kitten, but I can see you'd be in trouble pretty quick if I wasn't here to put you straight. So, let's go through this again. Your water bowl's here, and this is your food - but don't eat it all at once, you'll be sick. Your litter tray's over there, and I really do hope you're as housetrained as they claim you are, or housekeeping and I will be having words. And that won't be fun for any of us."

It was fairly hard to tell if these words of wisdom were having any effect. Reluctantly deciding he'd done all he could, he stood with an audible groan, and headed for the bedroom.

Behind him, the kitten made a very forlorn sound best described as 'mewp'. Jed turned around. It was looking at him.

He surrendered. "Oh, come on. Come with me." He carefully scooped up the tiny creature, and carried it with him into the bedroom.

After all, it had been Abbey's idea to get a cat. Now she was just going to have to live with the consequences.

* * *

He reentered his darkened office, and almost jumped out of his skin when he realised he wasn't alone in there.

"Jesus, Josh, do you have to-?"

"Sorry." His deputy waved a hand apologetically. "I figured you'd come back here, and-"

"Okay. Yeah." Leo picked up his briefcase and quickly checked through the paperwork on his desk.

"You spoke to him?" Josh asked softly.

"Yeah."

"And-?"

Leo met his eyes. "He didn't deny it." His deputy loosed an explosive sigh, throwing his hands up in disgust.

"Why-? Dammit, Leo, what the _hell_ was he thinking?" he demanded.

"He wasn't thinking, Josh," he said quietly. He'd exorcised his own anger shouting at Hoynes, and now he was just tired. "He was going through a bad time, he screwed up... we can fix this."

His words sounded like so much wishful thinking, even to him, but Josh latched onto them. "We can fix this," he echoed.

"That's what we do," Leo agreed with a shrug, as he snapped his briefcase shut.

"Yeah." Josh tilted his head back, running tired hands through his hair. "We'll fix this," he repeated softly.

"I'm speaking with Hoynes again tomorrow. And we'll need to get McGann's side on this, find out exactly what Bridges knows and what he's been doing with it."

"Hoynes didn't know about the blackmail?"

"He had no idea. He broke it off six months ago, but Bridges has known since the technology bill."

Josh's brow wrinkled. "I'm surprised McGann let him hold anything over her this long. This comes out, Hoynes is the adulterer."

"Yeah, but she's the woman," Leo reminded him. "Whichever way they paint her, she's not gonna like it."

Selena McGann was a tough, independent woman, and incensed as she'd be if the media decided to portray her as the amoral vixen leading Hoynes astray, she'd like it even less if they made her into the poor, helpless, innocent seductee. Even now, there was still a 'boys will be boys' attitude in Washington and the national media when it came to bed-hopping antics. If Hoynes had been the single playboy and she the married woman, he'd probably have got out of it with barely a dent to his approval ratings, but this way around it wouldn't be pretty for either of them.

"We'll have to prep CJ," Josh warned.

"There shouldn't be anything moving on this yet... but yeah," he agreed with a sigh. "And I'll have to talk to the president." They both contemplated that prospect grimly. Jed Bartlet was a man who took his moral standards very seriously - and practised what he preached. "This is _not_ gonna be good for his blood pressure."

Josh rubbed his head as they walked through the building together. "Maybe it's just as well the First Lady got him a cat," he mused. Leo stared at him in disbelief.

"The First Lady did _what_?"


	10. X

** X **

**FRIDAY:**

"Ginger! Hey, Ginger. Get over here," Bonnie said in a low voice, beckoning her over.

"What's going on?" Ginger wondered anxiously as she put down her handbag.

Bonnie nodded her head towards Toby's office. The door stood slightly ajar, enough to just glimpse that their boss was already there, and apparently hard at work.

"Was he here all night?" Bonnie wondered. Ginger shook her head.

"He went home... what's he doing here this early?"

"That's what I want to know."

This deviation from routine was enough to give them both pause. There had been times when it was not uncommon to come in and find that their superiors had arrived ridiculously early or indeed stayed the whole night, but after some rocky months following reelection, things had settled down. Sam had Steve keeping him at home, Toby had got back with Andy, and things at work had become less desperate, which added up to less hours in the office all round.

"There's nothing going on that you know about, is there?" Ginger worried. Bonnie shook her head.

"Far as I know, we're clear and clean."

"State of the Union Fever setting in?" The early drafts had been done for weeks and there was time to spare for polishing and the usual last-minute panic, but Toby was nothing if not suddenly unpredictable.

Bonnie considered this, and then shook her head. "No. No pie."

She nodded, accepting this for the wisdom it was. When Toby was locked in mortal combat with the State of the Union, there was inevitably pie involved.

Well, if there wasn't any work-related reason for him to be in early, that left the altogether murkier area of personal reasons. She chewed her bottom lip uncertainly. "You think he broke up with Andy?"

Bonnie grimaced. "I sure hope not. I still remember what he was like through the divorce... I can't imagine second time around is gonna be any prettier."

They exchanged nervous looks, and crept quietly as they passed Toby's office, trying not to disturb him lest their worst predictions come true.

* * *

Abbey awoke to a cold bed, and sat up with a frown. Jed, gone already? Normally she at least stirred when he was waking. She supposed she'd been tired; little surprise, when her husband had been wriggling around chasing a kitten all night. Getting him a pet was supposed to be good for him, not keep him up all night.

Expecting him to be gone, she headed straight into the shower, and was surprised when she emerged to find him sitting eating breakfast.

"I thought you'd left," she mumbled, towelling her hair.

"No, I just decided to get up," he explained.

She walked in, to find him balancing a precarious mix of briefing papers, plates, and inquisitive kitten. She gave him a look. "Jed, is that kitten sharing your breakfast?"

"No?" he ventured innocently.

Abbey shook her head, and walked over to press a kiss to his cheek before sitting beside him. "What did I always used to tell you about giving the cats toast?" she sighed.

"He didn't eat it, he was just licking the butter," Jed defended.

"You know, it amazes me that you ever managed to raise three children."

"Oh, I didn't do it all myself," he waved airily. Despite herself, she had to smile. It was wonderful to see him in a good mood for a change.

"How're you feeling?" she asked gently.

"Better... no, really," he insisted, when she looked sceptical. "Not quite well," he admitted, with a slight wince, "but... better."

"Good." She kissed him again, lightly, out of relief. Jed hugged her close with one arm, as he turned a page in the report he was reading with the other. "You won't be working yourself too hard today?"

He sighed, and buried his face briefly in her hair. "I've got a feeling it's going to be a long day," he admitted softly.

Abbey closed her eyes. She wished she could tell him to just take a few days off and relax until he felt better... but of course, he was the president, and that route wasn't open to him. She straightened up. "Okay. I'm gonna go get dressed now."

"Okay," he nodded.

"I'll be back in a minute, babe." She got up, smoothing out her robe, and tucking her hair back into place. It suddenly felt much chillier without her husband's embrace keeping her warm.

"Abbey," Jed called softly, when she was halfway across the room. She turned back, and he gave her a lopsided smile. His eyes were full of unspoken thanks; for her words, for being there, for an unlikely gesture that had brightened up his days for all that he'd protested it. "I love you," was all he said.

She smiled gently in return. "Love you too, babe," she agreed.

* * *

Margaret was waiting for him, a cup of coffee sitting on his desk, when he arrived. He picked it up - still warm - and wandered back out to give her a look.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" she wondered innocently. Leo scowled. It had to be a network of spies of some kind...

He let it go.

"Can you clear me some time this morning to speak to the president?"

Margaret narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "You're supposed to meet with-"

"Cancel it."

She looked exasperated. "Leo-"

"Cancel it."

She registered the tone, and immediately swung into action, reaching for the appointment book. "Do you need the whole morning?" she asked anxiously.

"I need as much of the day I can have," he said grimly.

She made several swift edits with a pen. "I can't clear your two o'clock."

"Okay," he nodded.

Margaret looked up at him worriedly. "Leo...

"You'll know before long," he promised.

This didn't have a great deal of potential for staying a secret.

* * *

Josh strode through the corridors at a harassed speed. He wasn't as early as he'd planned to be - multiple late nights had caught up on him, and he'd slept through his snooze alarm the first few times around. He would have liked to have been safely ensconced in his office before the place started filling up, but the White House was already bustling with life.

He threaded his way through a lobby, but paused at the sight of a familiar face. "Hey, Charlie. Got a minute?"

"Sure." They retreated to a slightly less public space.

"How's the president doing?" Josh asked anxiously. Charlie broke out a tired smile.

"He's feeling better," he said, sounding relieved. "Or, at least, he seems to be, judging by the fact he attempted to regale me with the history of European opera. I've never been so glad to hear a coughing fit start in all my life."

Relief and guilt warred for space at that news. They were about to drop a rather unpleasant bombshell on the president in the form of the news about Hoynes, and while it was good to know he was finally beginning to shake off the cold that had been dogging him, it felt like an exceedingly cruel time to slap him down.

Josh noticed that Charlie himself was looking a little less than bright and eager, and narrowed his eyes in concern. "Hey, Charlie, how are _you_ doing? You look kinda swamped."

The younger man pulled a face. "Well, my boss is sick, my boss's daughter is sick, my wife is sick and so is my father-in-law."

He paused for a beat to disentangle that. "Okay, but you realise that's only actually two people?"

"Well, you'd think," Charlie said wryly.

Having some small measure of experience of dealing with a sick Bartlet, he tried to imagine two at the same time, and suppressed a shudder. The stubborn streak running through the centre of that whole family was a scary thing.

"Hey, you want me to have somebody sent up to give you a hand?" he offered. Charlie shook his head.

"No, I'll do fine, don't worry about it. See you later, Josh."

"Yeah, see you." He suspected Charlie was exercising a little irrational stubbornness of his own right there, but right now, that was only one on a long list of concerns vying for attention. He headed for his office.


	11. XI

** XI **

"Samuel." CJ smiled at him tiredly as he entered. "Tell me you've solved the mystery of our watch-deprived ambassador?"

"Not yet, but I've been conducting an in-depth investigation," he said brightly. She narrowed her eyes.

"Should I be worried?"

"I didn't go through his garbage or anything," he shrugged.

"Then what, exactly, did your in-depth investigation entail?"

He looked slightly sheepish. "Well, I... asked Steve."

CJ smiled and shook her head. "Okay. And what did Steve say?"

"Ah, well," he smiled. "He happened to notice that the ambassador spent most of the evening in the company of one of the female guests."

She straightened up; at last, they might be getting somewhere. "Which guest?"

Sam's shoulders drooped slightly. "I don't know."

"Your investigative abilities wow me," CJ sighed.

"Steve said she was a blonde girl in a green dress, with-" he gestured vaguely in the direction of his shoulders- "some form of decoration or other that our mutual knowledge of fashion design and mime artistry wasn't sufficient to get across."

"Melanie Timberland," CJ instantly supplied. Sam blinked at her in surprise.

"You got that just from the-?" He made the gesture again.

"Sam, I'm a woman. I am, for reasons not quite understandable, every time I enter a room required to scope out the rest of the people in it and make sure nobody else is wearing the same dress I am."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Next time there's a dinner party I don't want to go to, I'm gonna try that," he mused. "I'm gonna walk in the door, say 'Oh my God! That guy's wearing a black tux too! I can't go in there,' and walk out again."

"Yeah?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"I don't think that would wash."

He nodded slowly. "What if I saw a guy with the same cufflinks?"

She lowered her brows at him. "Get out," she suggested.

"Okay." He headed towards the door. "I'll get hold of Timberland, see if she knows anything about the watch?"

"Thanks," she said gratefully.

CJ straightened out her paperwork, and picked up the briefing notes Carol had left her. She was only a few lines in when the phone rang.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Donna." She grimaced. "Please tell me this isn't about the Swedish Ambassador?" She sighed in relief. "Oh, thank you. Okay, what is it?"

She listened for a moment, then straightened up incredulously. "You got the president a _what_?"

* * *

Jed shook his head in weary disbelief. "And you're telling me this is true?"

"I spoke to Hoynes myself," Leo agreed sombrely, leaning forward against the chair-back his arms rested on. This wasn't the sort of conversation you sat down for.

The president looked down, his lips momentarily forming a curse or insult that he didn't speak aloud. "What was he _thinking_?" he wondered instead, when he raised his head.

"I'm not sure he was thinking anything," Leo told him.

Jed sighed. "Can we pull this out of the fire?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, and Jed nodded solemnly.

"It's a question of where we can move next," Leo continued, after a momentary silence. "Bridges has kept quiet this long, where he's been able to use it to his advantage, but whether we can lean on him to-"

"Does Suzanne know?" the president suddenly interrupted. And of course he would be following that train of thought; not the politics, but the people behind them.

Leo winced. "Not about this particularly... but apparently she has a pretty good idea what her husband gets up to in his free time."

Jed shook his head in dismay. "It's a terrible thing, a marriage dying, Leo, a terrible thing," he said sadly.

A sharp remark almost escaped to remind him that Leo knew that better than he possibly could... but then again, maybe he didn't. He'd let his marriage wither and die by the wayside in pursuit of the things he deemed important, but Jed had never neglected his, leaning on it instead of away from it when times were at their darkest. So maybe for all Leo's bitter experience, Jed was the one who was wise in these matters.

"What's going to happen to him if this comes out?" he asked, glancing up at him.

Leo shrugged slightly. "Difficult to say. If he stands up and confesses of his own accord, and neither Selena nor Suzanne is making waves, there'll be pressure on him from all sides to resign, but he's not actually facing criminal charges, so..."

"What about Bridges?" the president wondered.

"He has considerable influence in the Senate... but that could be to our advantage," Leo noted. "If the truth about the blackmail comes out, that'll take Hoynes down for sure - but it'll take Bridges down with him, and he's gonna fall harder and faster." You could scrape together a case against the Vice President for endangering the business of government through conduct unbecoming, but the blackmail charges against Bridges would be a hundred times more airtight. The force of self-preservation could make Joe Bridges the Vice President's new best friend.

Jed nodded thoughtfully to himself, straightening out the sequence of events in his head. "So Hoynes publically admits to having had an affair, now six months in the past. Selena McGann keeps her mouth shut, Suzanne Hoynes either stands by her man or divorces him, and the word 'blackmail' is never so much as whispered. Assuming Hoynes doesn't resign... what happens next?"

Leo grimaced. "We might be able to keep him on as Vice President, but a presidential bid? The American public won't forget."

"They didn't forget I was censured, and they still re-elected me," Jed pointed out softly. Leo gave him a small smile.

"Yeah, they did... but John Hoynes isn't you."

The president sighed, plainly unwilling to relinquish the chance of forgiveness for Hoynes just yet, and left the subject alone. "I'll want to talk to him."

"Yeah." He'd anticipated that.

"Okay."

He left the Oval Office, but turned back to see the president walk across to the ball of fluff masquerading as a kitten on one of the chairs and lift it up into his arms. Despite himself, the sight made him smile, and for a while he walked the corridors with a slightly lighter heart.

* * *

Sam edged closer to Toby's office, from which angle he could see his boss's fierce scowl as he concentrated hard on whatever he was writing. It was his 'disturb on pain of death' expression, something that - thankfully - hadn't been seen very often in recent weeks.

He nudged Bonnie anxiously. "Has he been there all night?"

"No, but he was here before we all got here," she said, matching his level of concern.

"What's he working on?" he wondered with a frown.

Bonnie just shrugged.

A worrying thought struck. "It's not State of the Union fever, is it?" The early drafts were in, and he'd hoped for at least another week of grace before the rush to rewrite the whole thing from scratch set in.

She shook her head. "No pie."

"Ah."

Well, it couldn't be State of the Union fever if there was no pie. He steeled himself, and walked into the lion's den.

"Hey, Toby."

His boss's rapid-fire typing came to a staccato halt. "Yes?" he demanded pointedly.

"What are you working on?" he wondered. "I thought we were pretty much clear the rest of the week?"

"This is for Andy," he said brusquely. Sam smiled in disbelief.

"Toby, are you writing love letters on government time?" he smirked.

Toby gave him a look. "This was not, last time I checked, actually sixth grade. Therefore, it follows that this is not a love letter."

"Then what are you writing?" he enquired, not deterred.

"I'm making my case," he said shortly. Sam remained confused.

"Making your case...? Toby, are you-"

Ginger appeared with a quick knock on the doorframe and a nervous glance at Toby. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He straightened up.

"Melanie Timberland's here."

"Okay. Thank you." His boss had gone back to pointedly ignoring him, so he followed her out. "She's waiting in the lobby?"

"Yeah."

As they crossed the bullpen, he jerked his thumb back in Toby's direction. "He's writing love letters in there," he confided, eyebrows raised.

Ginger blinked. "Okay, now I'm more scared than I was this morning."

"Tell me about it."

They split up and went their separate ways.


	12. XII

** XII **

"...And that's all we have on that for you for the moment." CJ surveyed the press room, gauging their mood. "Questions?"

A hand she was getting very used to seeing shot up again. The shine of having an old friend back in town was certainly starting to wear off... "Danny?" she queried resignedly.

"Just out of curiosity, CJ, why was Leo McGarry meeting with the Vice President last night?"

Dammit, how did he do it? She didn't even know Leo had been over there, let alone what it was about. "Government business, Danny," she slid in sardonically, enjoying the undercurrent of disgusted groans that rippled through the room. "Hey, contrary to popular belief, it happens."

"Okay," he accepted cheerfully. "Swedish Ambassador's watch?"

She pointed at him accusingly. "That's two for the price of one, Danny," she chided jokingly. "You've got to learn to let the other kids play. Arthur."

"CJ-" he began, spreading his hands almost apologetically as he prepared to chase the line of enquiry. Of course she'd known she couldn't duck the watch question so casually, but it had allowed her a beat to collect her thoughts, and a little yanking of Danny's chain just for fun besides.

"We're investigating the watch thing, Arthur," she said. "The Swedish Ambassador was... a little inebriated... on the night in question, and we don't want anybody jumping to any hasty conclusions."

That was by way of a little verbal rap on the knuckles to the press corps; 'give us time, or we could both end up looking stupid'. They only had the shortest of grace periods before the ambassador started mouthing off about sneak thieves, but might as well hold the brakes on the story for as long as she could.

The press corps obeyed the hint, although probably only because they knew that particular scent of blood in the water would only get fresher with time. She looked for an appropriately friendly face. "Katie."

"CJ, how's the president doing?"

She smiled slightly, relieved to be able to report the truth on that front. " He's doing swell; I have it on good authority that he's feeling much better. We fully expect him to be up to full health in next to no time, and be back in perfect condition for the State of the Union."

She could have pointed out that he'd delivered that particular speech with considerably worse problems than a mere cold, but the last thing she wanted to do was give them any help steering the subject back to fever-induced MS attacks.

"Is he taking any medication?" Chris chimed in. It was just as well CJ was an expert in straight faces, as she recalled how even the perfectly innocent pills he'd been taking Tuesday night had almost caused a disaster with a little champagne poured on top.

"Just a good old-fashioned dose of chicken soup, vitamin C, and cough medicine," she assured. Keeping it light, always keeping it light, because God forbid she suggest the president was in danger of even so much as a headache or a coughing fit.

She smiled then, however, as she decided that it was the right time to bring out her secret weapon. "In other news," she added playfully, "I can report that the Bartlet family has finally decided to follow the example of previous administrations, and liven up the White House with the introduction of a First Pet. Yesterday morning, the Bartlets were moved to give a home to a male black and white kitten whose previous owners were unable to look after it. No word on a name just yet, but I'm told he and the president have hit it off and are fast becoming inseparable."

She smirked at the veritable forest of hands that shot up in the wake of that surprise announcement. "Yeah, I thought that would get you going."

Seasoned political hacks? The public at large might think they lived for muck- raking and scandal, but she knew better. Throw them something light, fluffy and heart- warming, and they were yours for life.

* * *

"Melanie?" Sam smiled enquiringly as he approached the young woman in the lobby. She turned, and gave him a cautious smile.

"Sam Seaborn?" she assumed, more for confirmation than an outright question. If she was a regular at White House events she'd probably seen him around, at least from a distance. He recalled her face from the party now, although the mysterious green dress both CJ and Steve claimed to remember was a blank to him. He'd never been good with noticing clothes and hairstyles. Back when he'd still been with Lisa, an open-ended 'So... what do you think?' had been enough to inspire mortal terror.

"Yeah. Thanks for coming; if you'd like to follow me..." He guided her away from the busy public space of the lobby. He smiled politely as they sat down. "Coffee?"

"No. Thank you." She sat slightly hunched, looking nervous. Sam guessed that while she might have seen the inside of an exclusive party or two, she'd never been invited into the West Wing. He leaned back in his chair, trying to keep things relaxed and unintimidating.

"Sorry to drag you back here like this," he apologised, "but it's a matter of some diplomatic delicacy. You spent some time Tuesday night with the Swedish Ambassador?"

She smiled wryly, a politer expression of what might have been a snort in other company. "You mean, did I notice him chasing me around the dance floor like I was the second course? Yes, I remember the Swedish Ambassador."

He grinned slightly in response. "Well, the ambassador contacted us yesterday in a state of high distress. Apparently, at some point during the dinner party on Tuesday evening, he lost track of a highly valuable engraved gold watch. We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on what could have happened to it."

She shrugged easily. "Sure, I know what happened to it." She pulled back the left sleeve of her blouse, revealing a chunky gold band around her wrist. "I've got it."

* * *

"Josh." She knocked lightly on the doorframe as she entered to get his attention. He pushed himself upright with a groan and a grimace; she guessed he must have been leaning back staring at the ceiling for some time.

"Hey, Donna," he smiled tiredly.

"Do you need anything?"

"No... no." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine."

Donna pulled the door shut behind her, and crossed over to join him. "Do the others know yet?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "Leo wanted to talk to the president first, and speak with Hoynes again on the phone. The next step's to involve CJ." He grimaced at that thought. "We've left her out of the loop too long on too many things, and it never goes well. Danny's already sniffing something, he must know Leo doesn't go over to see the Vice President late at night over nothing."

"I thought CJ did well with the briefing," she offered, trying to cheer him up a little. She'd watched for the announcement at the end, and seen CJ step around some potentially awkward questions with a great deal of grace.

"Yeah." Josh rested his chin in his palm for a moment, then glanced up at her wryly. "You gave the president a _cat_?" he asked, a little incredulously.

"The First Lady gave the president a cat," she corrected quickly. "I just ran interference."

"Donna-" he began, sounding exasperated.

"I didn't even suggest it! I was just on the phone to Shelley over at accounts, and the First Lady overheard me talking about finding a home for a kitten..."

"Okay." He waved any question of deliberate kitten-placement away with a lazy hand.

"The First Lady thinks it'll be good for his blood pressure to have a pet."

He glanced up at her. "Yeah?"

"They've done studies, Josh."

"And I'll bet you can quote me the facts and figures, too," he noted tolerantly.

"Pets are good for people. Did you know that in this country people spend more money on cat food alone than on baby food?"

"That's probably because you can't breastfeed a cat, Donna," he said sardonically. He blinked. "Or at least, I would hope not."

Donna gave him a look. "The point being, Joshua, that many many people in this country like cats. The president among them. You don't need to act as if I parachuted into the place in the dead of night and boobytrapped his office with kittens."

He sniffed, probably of the opinion that she'd basically done exactly that. She sighed.

"I don't know why you're so afraid of cats, Joshua. Very few of them are likely to attack you, and contrary to what you were muttering that time you came over to my apartment drunk, absolutely none of them vote Republican."

"They would if they could register," Josh insisted mistrustfully. "Donna, I have no objection to cats... in their right place!" he protested. "Their right place being as far away from me as humanly possible, and nowhere near the centre of this country's government."

She gave him a dry look. "I don't think you have to worry about a military coup, Josh."

"It's distracting! This is the White House, not a-" he gesticulated wildly, " farm, or something. Now, every time I've gotta go into the Oval Office, there's a kitten sitting there staring at me!"

She let that hang in the air for a beat. "Well, I can see how that would be far more intimidating than just the President of the United States on his own."

Josh sighed, and deflated.

"It's really supposed to be good for his blood pressure?" he wondered, after a moment.

"I think the president could do with just about any aid in relaxing he can get," Donna pointed out.

"Yeah." He looked tired. After a brief pause, he sat up, and met her eyes. " We're going round in circles, Donna. Every time we put one crisis in the drawer, there's another one lining up to take its place. We're rowing ourselves round in circles, and we're not getting anywhere."

She considered that, and then shrugged slightly, and smiled. "At least we're still afloat."

After a moment, he nodded briefly, and smiled back. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose we are."


	13. XIII

** XIII **

"Hey, CJ."

"Leo." She smiled at him, but the expression faded as she registered his mood. She sat up. "What's up?"

"I'd like to know what you'd say to this hypothetical situation," he began.

CJ looked tense; hypotheticals were never good. "Shoot," she said tersely.

"I have a hypothetical high-ranking government official who's been found out to have been having an affair," he said grimly. "The incident in question being six months in the past, and the circle of people who know about it being very small, and including said official's wife. However, hypothetically, it also includes an opposition Senator with a vested interest in using that information to get what he wants."

"How high-ranking?" she asked bluntly. He looked her in the eye.

"Vice President of the United States."

CJ's face remained very composed. "What would I say to that hypothetical?"

"Yeah."

"I'd say it's _way_ too early in the year for April fools jokes."

He let his breath out in a rush. "Yeah."

"Seriously, Leo, there's no chance-?"

"I spoke to Hoynes myself," he cut her off bluntly.

He could tell she was angry by her swift, brittle movements as she very deliberately rearranged the papers on her desk. "Who are the players in our little morality tale?" she demanded.

"Selena McGann. Joe Bridges." He debated clarifying which was which, but right now he wasn't in the mood for even graveyard humour.

CJ straightened up in shock. "This is the leaked deal?"

"Yeah."

"This is what Josh has been hunting all week?"

"Bridges tried to blackmail McGann into stabbing us in the back. She leaked the deal to the press so we'd take it off the table before he made her poison it."

"She went to those lengths to keep the affair a secret?"

"She's the woman in this, CJ, I don't have to tell you how this turns out."

She made a very precise fold in a sheet of paper, smoothing it between her fingertips.

"Leo, if you think the Vice President's any closer to coming out of this smelling of roses, I've got news for you," she pointed out.

"If we can put a strategy together-"

"There's no _strategy_, Leo," she reminded him. "This isn't an illness or a justified trauma, this is sex. It doesn't go quick, and it never sells clean."

He sighed softly. "I know," he agreed quietly. "But Hoynes is our guy, and I'd like us to give this the best shot we can. We caught it before it explodes. If we can strike a deal with Bridges, it might never have to see the light of day."

CJ held his gaze. "Leo, if our time in office has ever taught us anything, it's that everything always comes out."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. CJ became suddenly interested in the papers she'd been folding on her desktop.

"Suzanne knows?"

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling suddenly extremely weary. "I think they have... an understanding."

"Okay."

There wasn't really much else either of them wanted to add.

After a moment, he asked "You told the press corps the president has a pet kitten?"

"Leo, the president does, in fact, have a pet kitten," she pointed out with a wry smile.

"I know. I have been introduced to it, I was induced to pat it, I am now gonna have to have this suit drycleaned after it managed to projectile shed more hair than you would possibly believe a single kitten could contain. The thing should be bald by now."

"I thought it would be good for the press to have something more pleasant to focus on. Good for the president, too," she added.

"Yeah." He paused for a beat. "CJ, so help me, if this cat ends up being called Fluffy, or Mr. Tiddles-"

"It has no name! It's a nameless cat," she defended.

"Okay." After a moment, he straightened up. "Anyway... Josh, the president and I are gonna be meeting with a few people about the thing we discussed. And it may be that it doesn't go anywhere, but I thought you needed to know."

She nodded shortly. "And if I get the question?"

He hesitated for only a beat. "Answer it," he said shortly. "He's our guy, and we'll defend him, but nobody's lying or running a coverup. We don't do that."

"Okay," she nodded.

"Good." He left.

* * *

Sam blinked at the young woman in befuddlement. "You... have the watch?"

She nodded matter-of-factly, sliding her sleeve back down as she pulled back. "I do."

He was caught off balance. "Um, can I ask...?"

"He gave at to me."

"At the party?"

"As a token of 'his affections'," she nodded, pulling a face.

He sat back, digesting that. Well, this made things a whole new ballgame. "You realise he's reported it stolen?"

"Because he was drunk off his ass and gave it out to a woman he'd never met before in, as it turned out, tragically unfounded hopes of getting laid?" She raised her eyebrows pointedly. "Yeah, I'm not surprised."

Sam frowned, and rubbed his face. "Um, if you don't mind me asking... Since you obviously weren't that impressed with his 'affections'... why did you accept the watch?"

Timberland shrugged slightly, and considered. "I don't know, really. Because he was a jerk, because he was following me around all night and he wouldn't take no for an answer... because, you know what? Anybody who thinks they can bribe girls into leaping into bed with them with some expensive jewellery deserves exactly what they get."

He supposed she had a point... and there was a certain cruelly appropriate justice to it. If he'd spent the whole night trying to take advantage of her, why shouldn't she take advantage of him in return by tripping him up in his own egotistically grandiose gesture?

"It turns out the watch was a present from his wife, of great sentimental value to her," he pointed out, neutrally. She gave a darkly amused grin.

"Really?" She stretched her arm out to admire the watch. "Well, that makes it all the more delicious."

Sam almost had to smile at her shameless glee over the troublesome net the ambassador had snared himself in. "He's threatening to go to the papers with the story that it was stolen from him in the White House if he doesn't get it back by this afternoon," he warned.

She shrugged. "Then I'll be more than happy to set the record straight. I have no interest in embarrassing the White House, Mr. Seaborn... only certain people who most definitely deserve to be embarrassed."

"You're not prepared to give it back, then?" he wondered. That could be potentially very sticky, especially if the ambassador continued to assert that the watch had actually been stolen, not freely given. If it came down to his word against hers, the fact that he was a drunken idiot would, unfortunately, likely count less than the fact that he was an appointed ambassador to their country.

"Oh, yes, I'll be giving it back," she smiled. She pulled the watch from her wrist and inspected it casually. "In fact, just to save him the trouble, I think maybe I should go out of my way to drop in at the hotel, and give it to his wife myself. After all, he _did_ make such a production of telling me his room number."

Sam had to allow a small smirk to break the surface. "Okay." He stood up. " Well, thank you very much for your time, Miss Timberland. You've been a great help. And I'll be... absolutely _delighted_... to convey the good news about his watch to the ambassador."

She snickered appreciatively as she got out of her seat to join him. "Room for one more on that conference call?"

Sam grinned back. "I don't see why not." He held the door for her. "After you," he gestured politely.


	14. XIV

** XIV **

"Mr. President?" A weary Charlie appeared in the Oval Office doorway, and Jed pushed himself up in his seat.

"Hey, Charlie. What's up?"

"Uh... nothing." His young aide stalled too long on finding an appropriate excuse for checking up on him, and just gave up on it. "You've got a couple of minutes clear before your next meeting."

"Okay, thank you." He sat forward. "Charlie, are you all right? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine, Mr. President." He managed to muster a smile. "Zoey's still sick, I've been pretty rushed these past few days."

Jed closed his eyes briefly. "I wish I could offer you some time off," he said sincerely. Unfortunately, with what Leo had just brought him that morning, it looked like all of them were going to be rushed off their feet for the foreseeable future.

"That's okay, sir, I can manage," Charlie assured him, although Jed was less than convinced. He was running himself ragged, and what would happen in a couple of months' time when he had to juggle being a new dad alongside all his other responsibilities?

"It's gonna be tough times for a while, Charlie," he warned with a sigh. "We've got the State of the Union coming up-" Lord, he'd almost _forgotten_ that- "-and somehow I don't think things are going to stay quiet even for that long. The storm's about to break." He nodded slowly to himself. "It's going to be tough... but I think we'll make it."

Charlie's tired smile spread into a more genuine grin. "Wow, that kitten must really be working wonders."

Jed chuckled, and was relieved to realise his breathing had got easier. Perhaps he really was beginning to shake off this infernal cold at last.

"Where is he?" Charlie wondered, scanning the Oval Office, but Jed waved him off with a hand.

"Abbey's taken him off to the Residence, she's always happiest when she's got something to mother."

His son-in-law smirked. "Yeah, I thought she got enough of that looking after you."

"Careful." Jed pointed at him warningly, but smiled as he did it. He ran his hands back through his hair, glad to be feeling a little more energy returning to him. " How is Zoey, by the way?" he thought to ask. His youngest daughter had seemingly picked up the same bug he had; nothing too serious, but still a cause for worry considering she was five months pregnant.

"Oh, she's fine," Charlie reassured him. "Just, you know- I have to keep checking back every five minutes to make sure she hasn't decided she's well enough to start decorating the house or something."

"You should have the Secret Service agents keep an eye on her," Jed advised. " She's too stubborn to just sit back and rest like she should."

Charlie eyed him pointedly at that, but sighed. "That's what I said, but you know she hates feeling like she's in a cage."

"Yeah." He knew the feeling. "Okay, Charlie. Why don't you take a break, go down to the mess or something? I'll be tied up in meetings for hours; I'm not gonna need you here for a while."

"Okay. Thank you, Mr. President." He withdrew.

Jed frowned pensively after him. Whatever he might claim, the boy really was pushing himself too hard. He wished he could think of some way to take some of the weight off his shoulders, but it didn't look like that wish would be coming true for any of them anytime soon.

* * *

"I solved it!" Sam strode into the bullpen, hands held high. "I solved the mystery."

Congratulations were conspicuously non forthcoming. He looked around for Bonnie and Ginger, but neither was there. He sidled over to the nearest intern.

"I solved the mystery, Lauren!"

She blinked at him. "I'm Cassie," she reminded him resignedly.

He sidled away from the nearest intern. "Okay."

Sam made his way over to Toby's office, and peered around the door. "I solved the mystery, Toby."

"CJ told me," his boss noted flatly, not looking up.

He shrank a little. "I'm not feeling the love, Toby," he said, pouting.

"I'm relieved to hear it," he said sardonically.

Josh appeared in the doorway.

"Toby won't give me any love, Josh," Sam complained.

"Yeah," he said vaguely. "Listen-"

"I solved the mystery," he explained brightly. "The Swedish Ambassador's watch? I found out-"

"That's great," Josh cut him off softly. "Listen, I need to talk to you guys about something." He pulled the door closed after them, forcing Sam to move further into the office. Toby stopped typing and straightened up.

"What's going on, Josh?" Sam asked warily.

He sighed quietly, and ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "There's gonna be something coming up."

"The president?" he guessed worriedly.

Josh shook his head. "The president's fine. The president's great. This is about..."

"The Vice President?" Toby assumed, and Josh met his eyes, momentarily surprised.

"Yeah."

"Leo met with him last night," Toby recalled.

"What about?" Sam asked Josh.

He grimaced. "I found out the source of the leak," he said grimly. "Selena McGann's being blackmailed by Bridges... over an affair she was having with the Vice President up until six months ago."

Sam let his breath out in an angry rush, and thumped the edge of Toby's desk. " Dammit, Josh-"

"I know."

"What's moving on this?" Toby wanted to know.

"Hoynes had no idea Bridges even knew about the affair. He's talking about resigning, but Leo doesn't want to let him."

"Why the hell not, Josh?" Sam demanded angrily. "Why should we get caught up in this, if he-?"

"He's our guy," Josh reminded him, although Sam wasn't sure he agreed with the truth of it. "We picked him up, and we stood by him."

"We might as well hand the election across to the Republicans," he pointed out. "Cut Hoynes loose now, pick a guy, and-"

"And he'll be the second-choice VP, hamstrung from the start. Besides, we haven't _got_ a guy." Sam mentally ran his mind over high-profile Democratic players, and grimaced. Josh had a point, at that. But still...

"This is _different_, Josh. We stood by the president, because whatever the president did or didn't do, it sprang from good intentions. This is a sex scandal, and we don't-"

"It's six months in the past, Sam," Josh reminded him. "It's six months, and we've got the ball, and if he comes clean of his own volition before anyone else has a chance to-"

"What, are we gonna ask him to get a divorce, too?" Sam demanded sharply. "Just for the look of the thing?"

It didn't matter about the look of the thing. It didn't matter if he owned up himself, or if it was all ancient history. The sins of the past didn't cut any less deeply.

_Twenty-eight years..._

"I want us looking at strategies," Josh said, cutting into his thoughts.

"Josh-" he snapped explosively.

"I _want_ us looking at strategies," he repeated, the emphasis pushing up against that fuzzy line of exactly how much authority he had, and what would happen if he tried giving orders. Sam could have mutinied, but he subsided, because he knew Hoynes had been Josh's guy once, the almost thing before the real thing. Five years on, and he still felt guilty for walking away from a campaign that maybe could have made it.

"There's no strategy, Josh," he said, but he said it tiredly.

"Look anyway," he said, and Sam heard a flash of the steely tone that Leo sometimes wielded.

Toby had been silent through much of this, watching them both intently. "Has Hoynes spoken to the president?" he ask, when silence fell over the room once again.

Josh rubbed his face. "He's coming over. He might even be here right now, I don't know."

"Okay," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah." Josh pushed the door open, and headed away. It creaked slowly back into place behind him.

A moment later, the tap of keystrokes resumed, and he looked across at Toby incredulously. "You're still writing your thing for Andy? _Now_?"

Toby looked up at him over the screen of his laptop, dark eyes impassive. "It doesn't look like I'll have much time to do it later," he said mildly.


	15. XV

** XV **

Lunch for the assistants was a subdued affair, the three of them hunched over quick meals in the mess, knowing they'd have to hustle back to their bosses as soon as possible.

"There's definitely something in the air," Bonnie frowned over her salad. Margaret nodded emphatically.

"Leo's been meeting with Josh and the president all day," she said, gesturing with her sandwich for emphasis. And Josh didn't look good. Leo was hard to read at the best of times, even for her, but you could follow the course of bad news on his deputy's face like a road map.

"Sam's just being Sam, but there's definitely something up Toby's ass," Bonnie said darkly. "The trouble is, I can't tell if that's the same thing or completely different. I think there might be something going on with him and Andy."

"It's making me nervous," Ginger added quietly. They both knew what she meant. Any bad news was worrying, but bad news that stayed at the top and didn't filter down was even worse.

"Whatever it is, I think it'll break soon," Bonnie said. "Donna knows." Donna knew, but they couldn't ask her, because that wasn't how it worked. Margaret might technically be senior - although nobody was really their leader, anymore, the gap left by Mrs. Landingham wasn't one that could be filled - but information was passed around when it was needed, not when etiquette dictated. She'd find out when Leo needed her to know.

"Let's not talk about this," she decided.

"Yeah." Ginger inspected her sandwich.

"Have you seen the president's kitten?" Margaret began, seldom at a loss for a new thread to inject into the conversation.

"I've heard tell from Becky in housekeeping," Ginger smiled.

"It's the cutest little thing," Margaret revealed. "It's black and white, and it sits on the president's feet when he's working. Leo wouldn't pick it up," she said in tones of disapproval.

"Josh is frightened of cats," Bonnie offered.

"And snakes," Ginger agreed.

"And big dogs," Margaret put in.

"And hamsters."

They all looked at Ginger. She cracked a slight smile. "Remind me to tell you that story sometime."

Margaret snickered. She reached for her dessert, and spotted a familiar face. "Hey." She nodded the others to look in the direction of Charlie, sitting half asleep over a cup of coffee in the corner.

"He looks tired," Ginger observed worriedly.

"I'm not surprised," Margaret clucked concernedly. "Did you know Zoey's sick too? She's got the same bug the president's getting over, and her five months pregnant..."

"I hope it doesn't turn into anything serious," Bonnie murmured.

"What's he going to do when the baby arrives?" Margaret wondered. "That's what I want to know." They all knew full well how impossible it was to manage a personal life working the hours they did, let alone cope with raising a family.

"He'll have to cut back on his hours," said Ginger.

"The president's not gonna like that," Bonnie frowned. "You know how he hates dealing with temps and new people."

"Yeah."

There was a long, solemn silence.

"I wish Mrs. Landingham was still here," said Ginger quietly.

Truer words had seldom been spoken.

* * *

"Mr. President."

"John."

The two men regarded each other in tense silence for a long moment. The president broke it, by standing up and walking around behind his chair.

"So," he said quietly.

John shifted uncomfortably. He'd spoken with Leo before coming in here, but while he knew the president had been apprised of the situation, he wasn't sure how far he could trust Leo's assertions about his initial anger blowing over.

Well, he might be the one in the wrong here, but he was damned if he was going to crawl. He looked the shorter man in the eye and spoke without further hesitation. "Mr. President, if you want me to resign-"

"I don't want you to resign," the president cut him off. Bluntly; not mouthing empty sentiments or protesting the very idea, simply making a curt statement of his position.

Oh, he was pissed all right. Out the other side of howling rage and into that colder side of him that felt enough like supercilious self-righteousness to set your teeth on edge.

Knowing he was in no position to count himself undeserving of the contempt didn't make it any easier to swallow. He fought not to get passive-aggressive in return. "Sir, I have to insist-"

"That you resign for the good of the administration?" Bartlet folded his arms, leaning against the back of the chair, and gazed at him intently. The lighting rendered famously blue eyes close to black, and there was no trace of the avuncular twinkle the American people thought they were familiar with. "Crap," he snapped furiously.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. "Mr. President-"

The president glared at him. "You're standing here and telling me what's best for this administration? Now?"

John wrestled the sudden intense urge to take a swing at him. Damn him, for always taking his moral fortitude and wrapping it around himself like a shield. There were layers and layers behind his instinctive response to that, the sureness it was hypocritical constantly at war with the belief it was sincere. His mental vision of who Jed Bartlet was had been yanked around so many times he didn't have a damn clue which one to believe anymore.

"I made a big mistake," he grated. "I realise that. I'm prepared to take the consequences. And with respect, sir-" he honestly didn't want to let that syllable sound contemptuous, but a curl of frustrated venom escaped into it anyway- "the consequence is that I'm no longer a fit candidate for the position of Vice President, and it would be best for everybody if I was simply allowed to resign."

And wasn't that irony for you? In the dark days surrounding reelection, he'd gone on a self-destructive bender, sleeping around and playing fast and loose with his official responsibilities, because those were the games he could play that didn't end in the bottom of a bottle. He hadn't given a damn if he'd been caught - back then, it had seemed like just about the best thing that could happen to him to get tossed out on the street.

And then everything had hit the fan, and cold reality had filtered in. Seeing Leo almost brought to grief, seeing the terrible stresses visited on the president... It had been an abrupt reminder of just how fragile the human chess pieces forming this Democracy really were, and his position in this tenuous chain of command. He was the fallback guy. He was the understudy. The one who wasn't worth a damn... until the day when, suddenly, the man who's shadow he stood in wasn't there.

It was hard to say exactly what had brought back his sense of purpose, and it hadn't happened all at once, but gradually he'd straightened himself out. He'd started to care again, started to feel that maybe, just maybe, his position in all this had some meaning after all. That even if he never made it to the Oval Office on his own two feet, being the Vice President might just have a little meaning of its own.

He'd been ready to shoulder the job again: not quite _wanting_ it, he wouldn't go that far, but _valuing_ it once again.

And now, _now_ they decided to yank it away from him.

The president sighed, shrinking almost visibly as the anger drained out of him. Only now, as the focus of that powerful and terrible charisma was abruptly diminished, did the eye begin to trace the lines of fatigue and the dark shadows under his eyes. He was still pale from whatever flu-type bug had gripped him, and his hair was greyer than it had been a couple of months ago.

He ran a tired hand over his face. "I know you think resigning is the right thing to do, John. And I admire that. But... we can't let you resign, John. We need you right where you are."

He no longer felt angry himself, only vaguely sick, and hollow. "Sir-" he began again, in weary exasperation.

The president laughed, slightly, more like the ghost of a chuckle than true amusement. "You think this is altruism, John?" he asked softly, eyebrows raised in a wryly quizzical expression. "You think this is me trying to give you a second chance when you shouldn't get one?" He let his breath out in a slow, heavy exhalation. "There are days... when I'm so frightened of this job I can't breathe. You think this is crazy altruism? Because I'm being selfish as hell."

He looked his Vice President in the eye.

"It scares me, John," he said quietly. "I'm scared that I have this disease and I might wake up one morning and find I can't see or I can't stand up. I'm scared that I might walk out of a door one day and meet a hail of bullets, or see my wife or my daughters cut down in front of me. I'm scared that one day, something might happen and I'll have this whole country on my shoulders and I won't be able to lift it." He hesitated for a beat, looking down at the carpet, and then met his gaze again.

"I don't want to keep you around because I think I owe you something or I think you owe me something," he said brusquely. "Leo wants to protect you because he's got your back, and that's what Leo does. He thinks he's a pragmatist, but down at the bedrock he's got a noble soul." He let out a quiet sigh. "This isn't about nobility, and it's not about me having your back - it's about you having my back."

He let that hang in the air for a long time before giving the Vice President a cold, thin smile.

"When I came to you with the Vice Presidency, you made me beg. And... I did it. And it's not because I'm not too proud. I did it because you were the right man for the job, and you _are_ the right man for the job, and whatever the history books will say when this is all over, I didn't pick you for your poll results or your party backing or what the papers think of your family values." He was on fire, now, the signs of age and fatigue just moments ago noted boiling away like water from heated metal.

"Mr. Vice President, I picked you for a reason," he said bluntly. "And there may be a scandal or there may not be a scandal, and there may be lambastings in the papers and a howling in the streets but right here, and right now, it comes down to one question and one question only. I chose you to be my Vice President because you are the right man for the job, so you tell me... will you serve?"

And despite himself, he was straightening up, because when Jed Bartlet spoke like that it went right down through your spine and punched through into the parts you weren't sure you even believed in. When Jed Bartlet spoke like that, it didn't stop you questioning his ability or given right to lead, because suddenly those things weren't even questions.

John held his eye, and spoke firmly, without regret or hesitation. "Yes, sir," he said simply.

The president smiled at him. "I'm glad you said that." He abruptly started to cough. "'Cause I really need to sit down now, and I don't think I'm gonna be able to speak for a week."

The coughing fit his words preceded racked his body badly enough that John was suddenly seriously worried, practically manhandling him back into his chair. He realised, with his hand still on the president's shoulder, that he'd lost a hell of a lot more weight than was immediately obvious. That broad-shouldered build still disguised it, but the extra padding born of long years at a desk job and a love of rich food had been steadily melting away.

"Mr. President, are you all right?" he asked urgently, as the president tried to contain his coughing. He nodded fervently, but his eyes were watering as he did it, and it was a long time before he could control his breathing enough to try and speak again.

"I'll be fine," he said, voice still ragged. He rubbed his chest. "It just... caught my breathing a little, I... I'll be fine."

John remained leaning over him worriedly. "Sir, should I get you your doctor?"

The president shook his head emphatically, managing to transmit by glare more clearly than words how kindly he really wasn't taking to that suggestion. "I've been poked and prodded... quite enough for one year, and it's... not even coming on for February, yet." He sucked in a breath, and managed the illusion of composure. "I'll be fine."

"I should get the First Lady," John decided, straightening up. The president still glared at him, but now with more exasperation than a look of warning.

"I don't need the First Lady, it's not a big deal, it was just a coughing fit." John was struck by how much he sounded like a small child insisting he was still perfectly good to go out and play, and had to smile.

"I'm getting the First Lady," he pronounced, heading for the door.

The president rolled his eyes, but then smiled up at him. "I told you," he said softly. "You're the man to have my back."

John hesitated for a moment, and then left the Oval Office without responding to track down Abigail Bartlet.


	16. XVI

** XVI **

"Hey, Toby." CJ gave him a tired smile as she perched on the end of his desk. He gave her a nod, still typing.

She let out a slow sigh. "So. It looks like there's another scandal looming on the horizon."

"Yeah."

"How is that we do this?" she wondered aloud. "It's some kind of a law. I'm gonna name it. I'm gonna call it Cregg's Law of Political Equilibrium. No administration, no matter how well organised, shall ever achieve more than seven consecutive days without disaster striking."

"Catchy," Toby observed.

"I thought so." She gave him a sideways look. "So why are you so quiet?"

"I had a silencer put on my keyboard," he said dryly.

"The fact that your keyboard isn't flying across the bullpen to bounce off the nearest wall is pretty surprising, Toby," she pointed out. "I'd say that even in Ziegler -vision, this rates as pretty important."

"It is," Toby agreed. He gave a minute shrug. "So are other things. And right now, I'm handling those first."

He continued typing, while she gave him a speculative look.

* * *

"Hey, Donna."

"Sam."

"Is Josh in his-?"

"Yeah."

Sam stopped moving in bemusement as she rose out of her chair to block his way. He gestured towards Josh's door.

"I thought you said-?"

"Yes, he's in his office. But no, you can't see him." She gave him the steely look he was familiar with from the days of Josh's post-shooting convalescence, and the Rules.

He frowned in honest bewilderment. "Is he in a meeting?"

"No."

"Then why can't I-?"

"Because you look like you're going in there to be righteous and noble, and if you're going in there to be righteous and noble, I'm going to kick your ass."

He blinked. "That's not supposed to be a _good_ thing?" he wondered, a twist of bitterness escaping into the tone despite himself.

Donna's expression grew more pleading. "Sam... You know this is tearing Josh apart. And you're just gonna go in there, and you're going to keep telling him how standing for this is against all the principles you both stand for, as if he didn't know that already, and you're going to tell him he should do something when he knows he can't do something and frankly? He doesn't need that right now."

Sam deflated somewhat, knowing she was right. He was pissed as hell at Hoynes for putting them in such a crappy position, but offloading on Josh wouldn't help. Josh had worked for Hoynes before he'd jumped ship to join Bartlet, and he still felt guilty for deserting him. No doubt he'd already found some elaborate way to blame this sorry mess all on himself.

"Yeah," he agreed with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

He leaned back against the wall, and Donna gave him a tentative smile. Sam had to smile back. Some days, he could only wish he had a Donna of his own. She might seem quiet and retiring, but get her in your corner and she'd take on all comers. He'd never forgotten seeing her put Toby in his place one day when he was riding Josh too hard on the campaign. At the time, he hadn't known anybody did that to Toby and lived.

He wondered vaguely what had happened to Cathy. His old assistant had left the White House... when? He couldn't quite remember, now. Years ago. He'd meant to keep touch with her at her new job, but he hadn't really done it.

"Thinking of shaving my beard," he confessed randomly, after a moment.

"Yeah?" She looked sideways at him.

"I liked it at first, but the thrill is gone."

"Toby stopped teasing you?" she smirked.

"Yeah. And now it's, you know. Just this thing on my face."

Donna regarded him thoughtfully. "I kind of like it," she opined. "But it doesn't look like you," she added after a moment.

"Some days I don't feel like me," he admitted with a sigh. Today had been a rough reminder of what it was like to feel all your optimism dashed on the rocks of disillusionment. He'd liked Hoynes, well enough. He wasn't the real thing, but he was nowhere near the worst possibility, either.

Turned out, he was just another politician. Sam remembered how he'd been brought up to believe that politics was all sleaze and scandal-mongering.

_Well, I guess you'd know all about sleaze, dad._ He rubbed his face.

Donna smiled softly and touched his arm, a silent gesture of support. He looked across at her.

"So." He managed an incredulous grin. "You really gave the president a kitten?"

* * *

"I offered him my resignation. He wouldn't take it."

Leo looked up at him, and nodded slowly. "That's pretty much what I expected," he said mildly.

John narrowed his eyes at him. "You're making a big mistake, Leo," he warned.

The Chief of Staff shrugged, and straight up in his seat. "Well, it's not gonna be the first, and it most definitely won't be the last. We all screw up, John. It happens. We'll deal with it."

John knew he was referring to his own fresh bout with alcoholism in the previous year. But- "It's not the same thing."

Leo looked him in the eye, and smiled wryly. "Oh, it might not _look_ like the same thing," he corrected softly. "But you and I both know different."

He closed his eyes briefly. Leo knew. Of course he did. He knew what it was like to be that close to the edge of self-control, to be perpetually reaching out for... for _something_.

There was no excuse for cheating on his wife, for recklessly endangering his position within the Democratic party, for being such a damn fool. There was no excuse... but Leo understood the reasons.

"What's going to happen with Selena?" he asked finally. Leo pulled a face, and sat back in his chair.

"I'll talk to her," he said simply, and left it that.

John straightened up. "My resignation is still on the table," he reminded him.

"If we wanted it, we'd take it," Leo said shortly. And he knew that was the end of that discussion.

* * *

Her husband was lying back on the couch when she found him. Jed smiled wanly as she leaned over to feel his forehead with concern, and didn't struggle too much when she offered a hand to help him sit up.

"You all right, babe?" she asked gently. The time for chiding him for over- exerting himself was not now.

He nodded, but without his usual exasperation at the question. "A little too much talking," he conceded hoarsely.

"Okay. Let's get you to bed."

"Okay," he agreed.

He groaned slightly as she tugged him too his feet; no doubt his back was paining him. That old ache always rose up to attack when he was tired or under the weather. " I'll give you a back rub, how about that?" Abbey suggested, making a circle with her hand to back up the intention, and he rumbled vaguely in appreciation. "Yeah. Come on, honey."

"Where's the cat?" he asked as they approached the Residence, and she had to smile at him.

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with '_my_ cat'?" she teased.

He gave her a look.

Abbey smirked, and relented. "I left him curled up on the chair. On top of your sweater, I might add. I told you not to let him have it, he's gonna think all your clothes are fair game now."

"Like certain other people I could mention," he mumbled. "You're always stealing my sweaters."

"They're cosy, and they smell like you," she shrugged, perhaps moved to be a tad more sentimental than usual by his weakened condition.

"Well, if you want that, you should come and cuddle me," he informed her, and she laughed lightly.

"Next time you're addressing the nation, I'll do go right ahead and that, babe."

"You never know. It might increase my support."

Entering the Residence, he went across to their tiny feline guest, and stirred its fur absently with a gentle finger. The kitten yawned and blinked at him.

"You need a name, fella," Jed told him softly. "Can't have a kitten without a name."

Abbey smiled fondly, and leaned against his shoulder. "Still sorry I forced you to get a pet?"

He said nothing, but smiled with his eyes. She kissed him.

"Honey..." she said quietly, "if playing with a kitten for two minutes out of your day helps you relax when your blood pressure says you should relax, we'll fill the entire White House with kittens."

Jed smiled. "I think housekeeping might object," he said dryly.

"Who's in charge here?" Abbey folded her arms.

He pretended to ponder. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think it might be you."

"And don't you forget it." She trailed her fingers from his shoulder down his arm, and took his hand. "Now come on, babe. I still owe you that back rub."

He allowed her to tow him towards the bedroom without complaint.


	17. XVII

** XVII **

**SATURDAY:**

Steve wandered into the kitchen, and was surprised to see his other half still sitting there. "Hey." He leaned against the doorframe, and gave Sam a puzzled look. " Shouldn't you be gone by now?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed, and pushed himself wearily out of his seat.

"Something wrong?" he wondered.

He shook his head, and then shrugged. "Not really. It's just..." He trailed off. Steve waited for it to work itself to the surface.

Sam looked sideways at him. "What would you do if... there was somebody who'd done something you found totally incomprehensible, and yet you knew you were supposed to just... handle it? That you might even be called upon to defend that person's actions, because... just because that's what you're supposed to do."

He hesitated for a beat. "This isn't still about me calling the president cute, is it?"

"Steve." His boyfriend gave him a reproachful look.

"Sorry."

"Although, you know, I'm not over that yet."

"Okay."

"And may, indeed, never be."

"Okay."

Sam sighed. "Seriously, though. What would you do if you were called upon to defend something professionally that you, personally, found utterly reprehensible?"

Not knowing what ethical dilemma his boyfriend was dealing with, but seeing it was clearly important to him, Steve gave the thought due consideration. "I suppose," he said finally, "I'd have to know what I was defending it _for_."

"Yeah." Sam nodded slowly, and straightened up. "Yeah." He came over to press a quick kiss to Steve's cheek. "I'm going now."

"Okay."

"I'll be back late, probably."

"Late-late, or Saturday late?" he queried. In the White House, there was often little difference. He'd never met a group of people for working such incredibly long hours. Oh, he'd pulled a few late-nighters in his time, when the software absolutely had to ship or heads would roll, but give up his morning lie-in? Forget it.

Sam grimaced. "Probably late-late," he admitted. He breathed out heavily. " It's gonna be a long day."

"Okay."

He turned to go, and then lingered in the doorway. "Steve-" he began, and there was a pregnant pause before he finally continued, "-do you think I should shave my beard?"

He had to grin at that, not quite the weighty moral question he'd been expecting. Then he shrugged. "It's your face, Sam. I promise to still love you whatever you do with it. Even if you grow a moustache." He considered that for a fraction of a second. "Please, mother of god, don't ever grow a moustache."

Sam smiled, and then chuckled lightly. "Okay," he promised. "See you later, Steve."

"Have a good day," he responded. By the sound of things a 'nice' day might be too much to be wishing for.

* * *

"Mr. President?" Charlie poked his head around the door. "Toby."

"Okay. Thank you, Charlie." He stood up, folding away his glasses into a pocket. He'd been anticipating this one since yesterday. "Toby," he nodded.

"Mr. President." The Communications Director shuffled in, seeming uncharacteristically quiet. Jed frowned, and tilted his head to one side.

"And where have you been, Toby? I was expecting you to come in here, guns blazing, the moment Josh told you."

Toby shrugged infinitesimally. "I've been busy."

"This didn't flag your attention?" he wondered sardonically.

"It blipped my radar," he conceded. "I've been speaking with CJ, we're working on a few contingency plans."

"Contingency plans?"

He quirked a low-key smile behind his beard. "Also, possibly, the beginnings of a scientific paper on Cregg's Law of political scandal."

That intrigued him for a moment, but more pressing questions beckoned. Jed compressed his lips into a tight line. "You want to tell me how I get a bucketload of crap for a medical condition I can't help, and Hoynes gets nothing for a sex scandal?" he asked, unable to quash the challenging tone, and not entirely inclined to.

Toby didn't drop his gaze. "I hold you to a higher standard," he said simply.

Jed nodded slowly, and permitted himself a slight smile of acknowledgement. " Okay." He looked up. "Contingency plans?"

"Josh and Leo are putting together a strategy for the Vice President to speak to the press."

"They don't want to hold this back until after the State of the Union?"

"They want to. But Danny Concannon knows Leo had an unscheduled meeting with the Vice President, and we don't know how much Bridges knows about the leak and McGann being behind it. If this is going to come out now, we want it coming from us."

"Okay," he nodded again. It would doubtless overshadow the State of the Union - but he wasn't sure that was wholly a bad thing. The entire world was going to be watching him like a hawk through this damn speech to see how he was holding up after the year he'd had, and frankly, he could do with a little of the pressure taken off.

"Okay. Well, you can go." He cracked a smile. "Unless you'd like to meet the kitten? The rest of my staff have certainly seemed keen to derail the entire operation of government to play with a catnip mouse."

"I try not to encourage wildlife," Toby said impassively. Jed chuckled.

"Okay. Thank you, Toby." The Communications Director left, and he sat down to take a brief break before his next meeting.

* * *

"Senator."

"Leo." Senator McGann swivelled her chair around to smile at him, impeccable appearance showing no sign she'd been pulled away from other plans to make this Saturday meeting. "Back so soon?"

"I spoke to John Hoynes," he said flatly.

That caught her attention; she straightened up, but spoke coolly enough. "About what?"

He shook his head in dismay, in no mood to play games. "Selena, what were you _thinking_?" he sighed.

She narrowed her eyes. "Oh, so it's a case of what _I_ was thinking?" she wondered.

"Hoynes is a hothead, and, at times, too arrogant for his own good." He had empathy of his own for the Vice President's situation, but he was still more than pissed enough at his actions to keep it tightly walled away. "You should know better."

She shrugged unapologetically and sat forward. "A girl has to keep herself amused," she said, locking gazes with him.

"That's a pretty dangerous game," he noted.

"It's the only kind worth playing."

"Yeah, well, you're not just playing, you're losing." He glared at her. "Why the hell didn't you come to me as soon as you know Bridges was on to you?" he demanded.

She lowered her brows pointedly. "Because I'm a big girl, and I don't need to go running to daddy to get my hand held at the first sign of things going wrong?"

"Well, I'm not your daddy, and I'm sure as hell not here to hold your hand!" he snapped acidly. "You put the integrity of the entire Democratic party at risk playing your power games!"

McGann eyed him sideways. "My, we have a lot of faith in the integrity of the Democratic party," she smiled dryly. "It's nice to know you're still an idealist, Leo, even after all these years. I always thought that was terribly sweet of you."

He refused to be drawn. "Blackmail, Senator?" he demanded. "Why the hell did you even stand for it? You know damn well that if Bridges goes public with the news, even now, it's Hoynes's head on the chopping block, not yours."

She smiled sardonically, an expression that seemed directed more at herself than at him. "That's true," she conceded. "However, believe it or not... I'm actually rather fond of the boy."

He blinked. "You amaze me."

She gave him a tigerish smile. "You're not the first to say so."

"You were protecting Hoynes?" he asked incredulously.

Her gaze grew colder. "I also have something of an allergy to giving in to blackmail." He nodded slowly. "Is the Vice President out of a job?" she asked him.

"We're handling it," Leo said shortly.

She raised a fine eyebrow. "You think you can?"

"I think I can save his job. His marriage might be another matter," he said snidely. McGann was unrattled.

"I'm not the 'other woman', Leo, so don't even try me," she said icily. " Marriages die from the inside out, not any other way."

In that, at least, he knew all too well she was right. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You're right. That was out of line, and I apologise."

She looked at him, and smiled faintly. "You're a complicated man to figure out, Mr. McGarry."

Now he allowed himself to smile thinly in return. "You're not the first to say so."

She tossed back her head and laughed, apparently genuinely delighted. "Ah, Leo. There's nobody like you." A more business-like demeanour snapped back into place like the jaws of a steel trap. "What's happening to Bridges?"

It was his turn to give a predatory smile. "Oh," he said softly, "we're taking him _down_."

She gave a slow nod of approval. "That," she conceded, "I'd like very much to see."


	18. XVIII

** XVIII **

Donna cautiously poked her head through the door. "Josh?"

"We need him to make a statement," he said, launching into the conversation as if she'd been there all along instead of just arriving. "It can't sound like he's being pushed into it, he has to take the initiative. But if it sounds like he's over-rehearsed..." He trailed off and grimaced.

"Josh, you can't stop him taking a hit," she reminded him warningly. That much was plainly obvious, but Josh had to be repeatedly prodded anyway. Left to mull things over for too long, he was always able to convince himself that he ought to be able to find a way. And then torture himself for not coming up with it.

"If we have him come forward-" he said stubbornly.

"Then it's better, but he's still coming forward to say he had an affair," she pointed out. "You can't spin that into something that's going to go down well."

"It doesn't need to be a career-breaker," he insisted.

Donna offered a tentative smile, and wondered if he was trying to convince her, or himself. Carry on a political career after admitting to an extramarital affair? Possibly. Launch a presidential bid after doing so? She couldn't see it happening. Not for Hoynes. He'd already made one false start and had his thunder stolen by a supremely unlikely challenger out of New Hampshire. With that and now the seeds of a sex scandal under his belt, who would back him?

Hoynes had to know that. They all knew it. Even Josh knew it. He was just stubbornly beating his head against it, trying to find a way through or around that wasn't there.

"The party's going to push to have him replaced if they think he's unelectable," she said, deliberately focusing his attention on a more attainable goal. Salvaging the Vice Presidency was going to be battle enough, never mind reaching beyond it.

"With who?" Josh scowled. "Phillips? Winston? Russell? There's nobody in that pack I'd want within spitting distance of the Oval."

"Josh," she said hesitantly, after a moment. "Are we sure we're... doing the right thing here?"

"Sticking by Hoynes?" He met her eyes seriously for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Why?" she had to ask.

"Because, at the end of the day... it's not about who's got juice and who's a lame duck and who's gonna be running in 2006," he said quietly. "It's about who's gonna be sitting in that office tomorrow morning if something happens to the president. And for that... we want Hoynes."

Donna nodded, accepting that. "Okay."

Josh was silent for a long moment, and then sighed and stretched. He glanced up at her. "Can you get me that file I gave you yesterday on McGann and the technology bill?"

"Sure." She moved to leave, but Josh called her back.

"And- can you find out what happened to Ashley Bowers?"

"Ashley Bowers?" she frowned.

"McGann and Wells must know by now that he's the one who leaked it to me," he confirmed. He pulled a face, probably adding the guilt for any consequences of that to his over-inflated personal load. "He was a good kid, he was trying to do the right thing. Just... see if you can find out what happened to him."

"Okay," she agreed, and left.

* * *

"Congresswoman?" The young aide who appeared in her doorway was wearing a slightly puzzled expression. "We just got a package through for you from the White House Communications Department."

Andy frowned and looked up. "A message, was that?" she assumed.

"No, a package."

Utterly baffled, now, she stood up in time to see the courier just leaving. Nikki held up a thick manila envelope and gave her a pantomime shrug. What was going on here?

She hadn't been tangling with the White House recently on any professional basis, and that meant this had to be a personal communication from Toby. Sure enough, she recognised his scrawled but still somehow elegant handwriting on the address label. But the package was thick enough to be an official report, not a personal letter. What the hell had he sent her?

Ignoring the curiosity of the rest of the office, she shut herself away before opening it. Who could predict the Ziegler mindset? It had been a scant matter of days since she'd sorrowfully told him that she couldn't see a future for them the second time around, and turned down his impulsive proposal. Would this be another part of the same stubborn campaign, or had he immediately shelved it to go back to business?

Despite herself, she felt unreasonably nervous as she tore open the top of the package to find out. What fell into her hands was a neatly typed, bound document of at least twenty pages... entitled _1001 Reasons to Marry Toby Ziegler_.

A snort of amused disbelief escaped her before she could stop it. "My God, Toby..." she murmured to herself, shaking her head. She was sure it was a bad idea, but she flipped through the pages anyway. Yes, sure enough; one thousand and one list items, all individually numbered. She tried to imagine how many hours he'd spent writing it, and failed. Had he been typing solidly since the very evening she broke up with him?

A strong suspicion suddenly gripped hold of her, and she turned to the very last page. Then she sat down, and laughed like she hadn't laughed in a very long time. "Oh, Toby," she said aloud to herself. "What am I going to _do_ with you?"

When she finally stopped chuckling, Andy picked up the phone and punched for her secretary. "Nikki?" she asked, still smiling. "Can you hold my incoming calls for a while? I've got some heavy reading to do."

She picked up the document, and started reading from the beginning.

_1001 Reasons to Marry Toby Ziegler: _

_1\. He'll stop bugging you.  
2\. Saves time wasted in training new husband from scratch.  
3\. Wedding paraphernalia from previous ceremony can be recycled.  
4\. Good sounding board for political debates.  
5\. Someone to carry the groceries.  
6\. You already have a key to his apartment..._

* * *

"Mr. President?"

"Hi, Sam." The president nodded at him, still stroking the black-and-white kitten that was perched on the arm of his chair. "Have you met our new arrival?"

"No, but his fame has spread before him." Sam paused to pet the cat for a moment, and smiled as it purred at him. "I hear he's already causing chaos amongst the White House domestic staff."

"Ah, Abbey won't let me feed him stuff from the kitchens," the president grumbled. "Bad enough she's got me on this nutritionally balanced diet, now she wants the cat on one too. Don't listen to her, buddy," he advised the rumbling ball of fluff. "A little fish in sauce now and then won't hurt you. It's good for your brain."

Sam wondered what the Bartlet family's personal chef thought of his finely crafted dishes being redirected to the presidential pet. "Does he still not have a name?" he wondered.

"I was thinking of calling him Trouble, but around this place, who'd know what I was referring to?" the president said, with a wry smile. "What's on your mind, Sam?" he asked shrewdly.

He straightened up, growing more formal in his awkwardness. "Mr. President, to be frank, I'm not entirely comfortable with-"

"Defending the Vice President?" He nodded. "I didn't expect you to be."

He struggled to get his feelings across. "Sir, I just-"

"Sam, I've been married for thirty-five years. You think I don't have a problem with this? You think it doesn't bother me?" The president looked solemn. "A marriage is a sacred thing, Sam, that's why we're fighting so hard for everyone to have the right to it, for people like you and Steve to have the right to it if you want it. It's more than a religious rite or civil rights, it's more than words on a piece of paper. It's a vow of commitment, and it's not something that should ever be taken or broken lightly."

He looked down at his hands for a moment, and Sam followed his gaze to the wedding band that was so much a fixture you didn't even see it. "I have opinions of my own on the Vice President's actions," he continued heavily. "But right now, it's not about what I think, or what you think, or what the American people as a collective might think. What happens next is between John Hoynes and his family, it's nobody else's business."

Sam nodded stiffly, still feeling the reflexive flash of contempt and disgust for men who cheat, but accepting the president's words. What had happened with his father... that was private, something deeply personal. It didn't matter how many people saw it from the outside, none of them knew what it was like to be on the inside of it.

The president gave him a small smile. "Don't lose sight of what we're doing, Sam," he said softly. "Nobody's standing up for his actions. But we're standing up for his right to live his own life with as much privacy as any man deserves. It doesn't matter what he did or didn't do; it's helping nobody to see it dragged through the headlines."

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

If anyone should know the truth of that, it was Jed Bartlet. When the Michael Rogers biography had brought dark insinuations about the president's relationship with his father to the surface, secrets long-buried had been dredged up into the light in a media frenzy. Every news source in the country had got in on the act, competing to reveal more and more sensational details about the abuse their country's leader had suffered in his childhood.

Hacking apart private pains in public was good for nobody. It might excoriate the guilty, but the innocent suffered just as badly, and sometimes worse. Seeing Hoynes ripped into by the press for his actions might be darkly satisfying on a personal front, but his wife and teenage son didn't deserve to be put through that.

"Yeah," he said again, more firmly. He could live with that; building a strategy not to shield the Vice President from the consequences of his affair, but to give his family the privacy they deserved in the aftermath. He looked up at the president. "Has he spoken to his family?"

"Suzanne is... aware of the situation," he said grimly. "But I should imagine there are some long and difficult conversations in his immediate future."

"Yeah." It would have been nice to take some dark satisfaction in that, but it just made him feel worn and tired. Sam wondered if the Vice President's son had any idea how much his parents' marriage had collapsed in on itself over the years... or whether he'd suddenly woken up, to find the foundations of his life had shaken themselves apart without the slightest warning.

"You'll be working with CJ and Toby?" the president asked, couching the question of whether he could handle this assignment in more comfortable terms. Sam straightened up.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. President."

The president nodded. Sam paused, and gave him a smile as he was leaving. " Sir?" He waited until the other man met his eyes. "You're looking better."

The president smiled then, a warm and genuine expression. "Thank you, Sam."

He left, and headed for his office.


	19. XIX

** XIX **

The Vice President looked up as he entered his office. "Josh," he acknowledged, with a crooked smile.

"Mr. Vice President." There was no trace of... well, anything, in his tone, but perhaps that in itself sent a message. Hoynes played with a letter opener for a moment, then set it down pointedly and leaned back in his chair. He waited for Josh to speak.

"I've been coordinating with Leo and CJ," he obliged. "If you're sure you're ready to go public with this-"

"Do I have a choice?" the Vice President wondered wryly. Josh didn't answer. After a moment, he sat forward. "Josh, I know full well what a mess this is going to be from the moment it hits the news. The president won't accept my resignation."

"We serve at the pleasure of the president," he said quietly. Hoynes smiled wryly.

"Yes, we do," he agreed, with a faint hint of a sardonic tone that wasn't really directed in Jed Bartlet's direction. "And if we're going to have even the slightest hope of keeping control of what happens once this is out in the open, then it has to come from me."

Josh inclined his head in a short nod. It was seductively tempting to try and cover up what was still pretty much a secret, depend on the fact that Bridges hadn't made it public this far... but who knew how long they could rely on his silence? If he realised McGann had deliberately leaked news of the deal to evade his blackmail; if he'd noticed the flurry of meetings that had accompanied their discovery of the secret; if he tried to step up his blackmail campaign and wasn't satisfied with the responses to it...

He wondered if they'd been saved from previous disaster by their own swell of bad publicity. If Bridges had taken it into his head to ruin the Vice President in the past few months, it probably would have been utterly buried in the media storm surrounding the presidential biography. No, they couldn't just sit on this and hope it never came to the surface.

As it was, salvaging the Vice President's reputation from the admission that his marriage was little more than a sham was going to be hard enough. McGann wasn't the only affair in his closet, just the longest and most recent. She wasn't out to ruin him, but who was to say the others would be so discerning once it became a publicity free-for-all?

He was going to need a list of names, sooner or later. He knew it... but he really didn't have much stomach for asking the Vice President for it right now.

Hoynes looked up as the silence lingered on a few beats too long. "I should imagine you're pretty disappointed in me right now," he said, with a wry lift of his eyebrows.

Josh didn't answer.

Donna met him on his way in as he returned to the office. "I got you some time with the president like you asked for."

"Thank you."

"And I finally managed to speak with Rita Wells."

He looked at her sideways. "Ash isn't playing defence anymore?"

She pulled an unhappy face, perhaps feeling as guilty as he did for having put the young secretary on the spot to get to the truth about what was going on with McGann. "He's gone."

"She fired him?" But Donna shook her head.

"He tendered his resignation. Wells must know he was the one who spoke to us, but she said she would have kept him on anyway."

Oddly enough, Josh believed her. The young staffer must have been extremely loyal to be trusted with this kind of secret in the first place, and betraying that trust clearly hadn't sat well with him. He sighed, and rubbed his face.

"Okay. Thanks, Donna."

He headed for the Oval Office.

* * *

"We shouldn't do this now."

"Sam-"

"Toby, it's the State of the Union in two weeks, it's going to-"

"Sam-"

"-It's going to totally blow us out of the water, and they're going to expect us to address it in the speech-"

"Sam!" Toby shouted him into silence. "It's been decided," he said more quietly. "We're doing this, and we're doing it now, because you know what's just about the only thing worse than the Vice President admitting to having an affair two weeks before the State of the Union? The Vice President admitting to having an affair _one_ week before the State of the Union! Or two days before the State of the Union, Sam, we can't sit on this until after the State of the Union, so we have to get it out as soon _before_ the State of the Union as we can hope to-"

A soft knock interrupted his rising tone of voice. Bonnie appeared in the doorway, looking slightly nervous. "Toby? Andy's here."

Sam shot his boss a curious look, his anger over the Vice President's hijacking of carefully laid plans taking a back seat to more personal concerns. Toby hadn't said as much - of course, he never would - but there had certainly been things in the atmosphere that led Sam to suspect his reconciliation with his ex-wife was on the rocks.

Toby just nodded. "Okay." He started to stand, but Andy walked into the office to join them. Sam was confused to see she was carrying a booklet - some kind of report? Her expression was impossible to read.

She and Toby just locked gazes for a moment, and Sam tried very hard to pretend he wasn't there.

"You're a crazy, crazy, crazy man, you know that?" Andy said finally.

He just blinked, and looked at her. "Am I crazy man with an answer?"

She opened the back of the booklet and pointed to something that Sam couldn't see. Toby's inscrutable expression gave no clue as to what was going on. He held out a hand to her.

"We should talk."

"We should," she agreed. She took the offered hand and they left the room together, Andy dropping the document on the desk in passing.

After a few moments, Sam looked up at Bonnie.

"Any guesses?" he queried.

"Mystified."

They both looked at the dropped booklet. After a brief ethical battle, the outcome of which had been fairly assured from the start, Sam reached out and flipped it over.

"One thousand and one reasons to marry Toby Ziegler?" Bonnie wondered incredulously.

"What?" That brought Ginger in from outside.

Sam picked the pages up and flicked through them, wondering if this was what Toby had been working on so religiously for most of the past day. "One thousand and one reasons," he agreed, eyebrows up. They were individually numbered.

"One thousand and one?" Ginger said incredulously. "I couldn't think of one thousand and one reasons to marry Brad Pitt."

Bonnie looked her sideways. "That's because you'd pretty much have to stop after number one, 'he's totally hot'."

"Okay, it's only one, but it's good enough for me," Ginger shrugged.

Sam was still skim-reading. He turned to the back page, and then sat up. "Oh, wow."

"What?" They both leaned in to read.

"Oh, no he di'n't," Bonnie said a moment later, in tones of vaguely awed horror.

Sam blinked. "Apparently, he did."

"Did Andy look mad?" Ginger wondered.

"She didn't look anything," he admitted. He hadn't been able to puzzle out anything from her expression; he wondered if it had been any more readable to Toby. "I saw her point at something on that page," he added.

"Yeah, but what on that page?"

"I didn't see."

"Me neither," grimaced Bonnie.

They all looked down at the final page of Toby's magnum opus... which had been neatly laid out like a formal document reply slip.

> _I, the undersigned, hereby declare that in view of having read and fully understood the above, I intend to:  
> ( ) Marry  
> ( ) Not marry  
> ( ) Take further time to consider marrying_
> 
> _Toby Ziegler. (Check one box only.) _
> 
> _SIGNATURE _____________________
> 
> _Please return form as promptly as possible to the White House Communications Department for swift response._

They looked at each other. "She's either going to marry him, or kill him," Ginger pronounced.


	20. XX

** XX **

"Mr. President?"

"Josh." Jed put his glasses aside and sat up expectantly.

The Deputy Chief of Staff entered the room with extreme caution, eyes darting in all directions nervously. He looked as if he was fully expecting to be assaulted by something small, furry and dangerous the second he let his guard down.

"The cat is not going to leap out at you, Josh," he said patiently. "It's upstairs."

"Maybe that's what it wants us to think," Josh countered, unconvinced. Jed nodded for him to take a seat, and he perched on the edge of it, perhaps so he could keep a wary eye on his surroundings. Jed gave him a look.

"I'm assuming you braved the kitten's den for a reason?" he asked dryly.

The younger man found his focus. "Uh, yes sir." He leaned forward. "I had an idea that I wanted to run by you before I set anything in motion."

"About Hoynes?" he assumed, but Josh shook his head.

"No, actually, although obviously, we've been- I mean, if you want, I can- we have some thoughts on-"

"Okay." He had no desire to see Josh twisting in the wind over what was obviously a fairly uncomfortable subject for him, and waved the line of questioning away. "Tell me about your idea."

He pushed a hand back through his dishevelled hair. "Well. It actually concerns Charlie..."

* * *

"Danny." She expertly hooked him out of the swarm of reporters leaving the pressroom and pulled him aside. Nobody paid much attention; sometimes, having a slightly more friendly relationship with one of your journalists than etiquette dictated had its up side.

"What's up, CJ?" he asked alertly. After the first few days of getting reacquainted where the lines were blurred, they'd quickly settled back into the old routine. It still made her vaguely wistful at times to contemplate the uncrossable line their jobs placed between them, but she was glad to have him back

And there were times, like now, when it really didn't hurt to have a friendly Pulitzer prize-winner with a sense of integrity in your press room. "I have something for you."

"Great. What is it?"

"Not here."

He followed her willingly enough, but grew increasingly puzzled as they passed her office without ducking inside.

"CJ, where are we-?"

"This way."

She led him through another door into a conference room... where Leo McGarry was waiting for them. He pulled off his glasses, and smiled thinly. "Hi, Danny."

"Hi," Danny said slowly. He took the chair that had clearly been left open for him, glancing up as CJ closed the door. "What's this about?"

Leo pulled his chair closer to the table. "We have something for you. We're gonna ask you to bear with us on this, and in return, you're gonna get the exclusive interview that every reporter in Washington is about to be howling for once this goes public."

Danny narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm listening."

* * *

"Mr. Vice President?" Janine buzzed in. "Senator Bridges."

John smiled coldly and sat back in his chair. "Thank you, Janine. Send him in."

He was the one who'd done the summoning, but Bridges sauntered in like he was master of the house. He was twenty years the Vice President's senior, one of those brawny, craggy-faced men who got greyer and more lined but never seemed much older. It was a matter of pride for him when he was in his home state to be seen striding around farms and construction sites, connecting with the man in the street and not shying away from manual labour. He mined much of his support from loud, angry sermonizing about how those soft types sitting in their offices in Washington wouldn't know an honest day's work if they climbed out of their fancy sports cars and fell over it.

He dropped casually into the seat he should have waited for an invitation to take. "I got your call. What's on your mind, John?" he drawled lazily. The deliberate lack of formality grated, intentional disrespect behind a facade of down-to-earth lack of pretension.

John knew he was being baited, but he also knew making an issue of it only served to make him look petty and narcissistic. He ignored the implied slight to his position. "Glad you could make the time, Joe," he said, matching the tone.

"Well, I figured you boys down here could use all the help you can get. Seems like the vote-hustling business isn't going so well, now is it?" He smirked knowingly.

John held his gaze. "Something you'd know nothing about, of course?"

He shrugged easily. "Hey, I can't be responsible if somebody in your party had a sudden change of heart. Guess somebody suddenly decided to follow their conscience."

"Much like with the technology bill last year?" he said dryly.

Bridges' gaze grew suddenly sharper. "Well now, I wouldn't know what you mean by that."

Time to cut the small talk. "I spoke to Selena."

Bridges raised his eyebrows. "From what I heard, you two were doing more than talking," he said nastily.

"You seem to hear a lot," he noted. "How does the word 'blackmail' sound to you?"

The Senator's demeanour had grown noticeably cooler. "It seems to me like the kind of word you'd be in no position to bandy about."

He had to smile. "No? Because it's one you could be hearing pretty often in the very near future."

"You're bluffing," Bridges said confidently.

He raised a single pointed eyebrow. "Am I?"

"You wouldn't let this get out. I have the power to torpedo your career, and you know it."

John folded his arms and leaned back. "Well, somebody better tell that to Leo McGarry. Because he is right at this moment setting up an interview with the _Washington Post_ to take this public. Right now, nobody's saying anything about blackmail. But if we hear so much as a single word from you - if you so much as stop to whisper it to one of your Republican buddies in the back room - we'll be more than happy to go on the record with our side of the story."

Bridges went very satisfactorily bug-eyed. "You'll be finished in Washington once this gets out!" he spluttered.

"Maybe." He shrugged. "But if the blackmail allegations come out, I think we have to ask ourselves... which one of us has the most to lose?" There would be moral outrage indeed when the news of his ill-advised affair came out, but if the blackmail attempt was revealed, it was Bridges who would be facing the criminal charges.

The Senator recovered some of his composure. "I don't need to say a word," he snarled. "You think you'll have a single hope of running for president once the public find out you've been sleeping around on government time?"

He really didn't... but to be honest, he was beginning to think he was past caring. All the same, he pasted on a casual smile. "Funny... I do believe that's the exact same thing they said about President Bartlet running for reelection."

Bridges leaned close to him. "He might have built his own scandal, but he didn't sleep with it," he hissed.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to see." John stood up, knowing that however else he might stack up unfavourably against the sitting president, one thing he did have was a more intimidating full height to draw himself up to. Bridges scrambled to his feet, unhappy being looked down on.

"It's your funeral, Mr. Vice President," he said acidly.

"Yours too, if you even think about tying the media leak or the failure of the technology bill to my name, or Selena McGann's," he warned coldly. "And make no mistake, if you and your friends in the Senate start making noise about having me forcibly removed from office, it _will_ come out."

"Oh, you care about the little lady too?" Bridges wondered. "How touching."

"You've made yourself some dangerous enemies in this, Senator," John told him, ignoring the jibe.

"And you don't have nearly so many friends as you think you do," Bridges countered. "You think anybody's going to stand by you when it all hits the fan? You think the people are going to rally round? They don't love you, John. Bartlet might be a wishy-washy, liberal, elitist sorry excuse for a president, but they love him, and they don't love you. You're a politician to the bone, and nobody loves politicians."

"And it's men like you who are the reason why," he noted coldly. Bridges wasn't done ranting.

"They won't stand by you, Mr. Vice President. You're a nobody. You think they'll forgive and forget? That doesn't happen for men like you. The Bartlets of the world can wash away their sins, but nobody makes second chances for politicians like you. You're finished."

"Maybe so," he conceded softly. He locked eyes with the older man. "But right now, I still have a job. And while I still do, I serve the people of the United States of America, and I answer to them, not to you." He strode over to the door, and held it open pointedly. "Have a nice day."


	21. XXI

** XXI **

The famous Rita Wells was, as it turned out, a plump, mousy-haired woman who would have faded easily into any crowd without leaving much of an impression on your mind. Josh had the vague inkling he'd met her or seen her at some event or other, but he didn't know if he was confusing her with someone else.

"Congresswoman Wells."

"Mr. Lyman." She greeted him herself when he walked into the office. He didn't suppose a minor-league Congresswoman from the middle of nowhere could procure a replacement staffer quite so fast as they shuttled temps around in the White House.

"I don't think I need to tell you why I'm here," he said, mildly enough. She looked abashed, something he certainly wasn't accustomed to from the higher echelons of political power.

"No."

"You jeopardised the passing of a very important bill for this administration. And, in doing so, you helped perpetuate the cover-up of a very serious matter of blackmail involving two US Senators and the Vice President of the United States."

Wells seemed quietly resigned, disinclined to make herself excuses. "I know."

"However..." he shifted gears, "I realise that you acted out of loyalty. And that's worth something. Loyalty is always worth something." She stayed silent. "Ash quit his job?" he asked after a moment.

"I didn't ask him to. He was doing the right thing. I wasn't. I wouldn't have asked him to quit."

"But he did anyway."

She grimaced. "He felt that he'd betrayed my trust."

"And loyalty is... worth something."

"It is." Wells met his eyes, and smiled faintly. "He was a good secretary. Probably better than I deserved."

"I know that feeling," he agreed wryly. He nodded slowly. "One last question."

She shrugged slightly, as if saying she had nothing more to hide. "Go ahead."

"If I was to go looking for Ashley Bowers right about now... where would I find him?"

* * *

Danny left the meeting with CJ and Leo in an indescribable mood. On the one hand, he was still slightly dazed at the information that had just been dumped on him. On the other, there was that journalistic itch, a burning, fizzing sensation just below the skin that hinted at words ready to boil out and fill the page. Words that would be instrumental in deciding the fate of the Vice President of the United States.

Halfway down the corridor, he ran into the president.

"Ah, Danny."

"Mr. President." He doubted this meeting was pure coincidence; the president didn't typically take to wandering the halls aimlessly on a Saturday evening. "How are you feeling?" he asked automatically, journalistic and human impulse for once going hand in hand.

"I'm doing fine, Danny," he said, perhaps equal parts brush-off and truth. His colour had definitely improved since his deathly pallor at the dinner party on Tuesday. " How did you enjoy England?"

"It was great, but it's good to be back," he said sincerely. Travelling the world had been fun, researching and writing his book incredibly satisfying... but it was definitely good to back. Both in the States, and in the press room where he knew in his heart he belonged.

It had been honestly friendly small-talk, not the facile public-relations front many politicians put up, but Jed Bartlet could still jettison it quickly enough when there was a point to be getting down to. "You spoke with Leo?"

"Yes, sir." No point in pretending either of them didn't know what about.

Jed nodded slowly. "We're trusting you on this one, Danny," he said. "We're trusting you to... give the man his due. You'll do that?"

He hesitated for a beat, then said "I'll write the truth as I see it, Mr. President." His promise; nothing more, nothing less. No hatchet job, but no whitewash, either. Just the truth, as he saw it.

The president nodded again, and gave him what seemed to be an approving smile. "Then you do that," he agreed. "Do that."

He walked away, and Danny watched him. Perhaps it was just that it was late in the day, or that he was still a little under the weather, but he didn't seem to have quite the energy to his stride that he had once had. He thought of all the chaos that had gone down in his absence, and the media frenzy over revelations about the president's abusive childhood. He was glad he hadn't had to report on that.

Jed Bartlet was a good man. So was John Hoynes, in his way. Danny had met - and interviewed - enough pure sleaze in his time to know that, adulterer or not, Hoynes wasn't that.

Hoynes would get a fair hearing, and a chance to tell his tale. It was what he was entitled to, and many reporters wouldn't have given it to him. But he would give Hoynes a fair hearing... and then tell the truth, as he saw it.

* * *

The communications department had mostly gone quiet, but for the scrape of turning pages, and occasional muttered comments from the group clustered around a single desk in Sam's office.

"Aww."

"Pasta? Toby can cook?"

"I might have known he'd bring the Yankees into it sooner or later."

"Four-hundred and twenty-nine is sweet. Did you read that one?"

"Foot massage? Nobody ever gives _me_ foot-massages."

"Oh, I'm using this one for blackmail. Somebody get me to a copy machine."

Sam wondered again if they should really be reading this, but there was something almost mesmerising about the list of reasons that just drew you in and kept you reading. The power of Toby's writing, of course - but turned to an unusual and unexpected purpose. Almost as if the list were more than a list, a declaration: proof that he could show something so personal the same force of concentration and determination he exercised in his work. That, Sam was sure, was what he'd been offering to Andy, not just a list of _bon mots_ and touching statements.

Persuasive as they were.

"You know, I should stop reading this thing before _I_ agree to marry Toby," he observed. The assistants made good humoured snorts of agreement... but none of them stopped reading.

Flipping to the penultimate page, Sam found the thousand and first reason had been given a whole sheet of paper to itself. In the same unassuming ten-point font as the rest of the list, looking lonely in the upper corner of all that whiteness, it read simply:

_1001\. Because he loves you._

Nobody said anything for a moment, and Sam was glad, because his throat suddenly felt suspiciously raspy.

They all started guiltily as Toby reentered the bullpen. However, if he minded them reading through his private declaration, he didn't say anything. In fact, he was uncharacteristically silent. They crowded around him, and it fell to Sam to be to the one to speak up.

"Well?" he demanded impatiently. "What did she say?"

Instead of answering, Toby looked over his shoulder, as Andy somewhat shyly followed him in. She looked a little as if she'd been crying, and he wished he had a better eye for distinguishing between the good kind and the bad kind.

She didn't say anything either for what felt like far too long. Then she raised her hand and almost unthinkingly rubbed the gold band that Sam realised he hadn't seen her wearing in a long time. "You have to admit," she said, a little raggedly, "the man knows how to make a good argument."

The bullpen exploded into joyous celebration.

* * *

The president offered him a wan smile as he entered the Oval Office. The black-and- white kitten was once again perched on his knee; Leo allowed the little creature to nuzzle his hand for a moment before speaking.

"Well," he said finally. "It's all set in motion now."

"I talked to Danny," Jed admitted. Normally, Leo would chide him for that, but he supposed they were all putting their trust in Danny right now. It made little difference what the president did or didn't do; in the end, it would all come down to Hoynes, and how the American people chose to judge him.

He ran a finger down the back of the kitten's head. A tiny, fragile little container for a life. As delicate and insubstantial as most things worth holding onto were.

"You realise a lot of people are going to be saying we have to force him to resign," he said, after a moment. Jed looked up at him, and smiled softly.

"We didn't get this far by doing what everybody told us to," he reminded him. " We don't do the easy thing. Everybody should have a chance to atone for their mistakes."

Leo shrugged his shoulders very slightly. Some mistakes were worse than others; he knew he was still atoning for his, and would be for the rest of his life. "He's cost himself his shot at the presidency."

"Maybe." Jed had always had more basic faith in things turning themselves out right than he could muster. "Maybe not. He's telling the truth, and that should be worth something."

"Yeah." After a moment, he straightened up. "Okay. I'll come by again before I leave."

"Okay." Jed looked up. "Can you send Charlie in on your way out?" he added, almost as an afterthought. "I've got something to speak to him about."

"Okay," he nodded. He left the Oval Office.


	22. XXII

** XXII **

The coffee shop was a more downmarket joint than he was used to, a place for people whose government salary was not just low enough to bitch about, but low enough to truly necessitate counting the small change. It was quiet at this time of night; one server, and three customers. The couple by the door were too preoccupied with each other to notice his entrance, but the young man in the corner looked up, and gave him a wry smile. Josh picked up a coffee before going over to sit across from him.

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Slumming, Mr. Lyman?" he wondered.

"Actually, I'm talent scouting," he corrected, taking a cautious sip of his coffee. It was too hot to tell if it tasted okay, but his body was conditioned to take caffeine where it found it, and he kept drinking.

The young man gave him a look. "Have you tried the personal ads? I hear they're doing great things with internet dating these days."

"Funny guy." Josh grew serious, and leaned forward. "I've come to offer you a job."

He smiled faintly to himself, as if seeing a joke he knew no one else would get. "Mr. Lyman, that's-" He broke off and began again. "I appreciate that, but-"

"You haven't heard what the job is yet."

"That's not the-" He rolled his eyes. "What's the job?"

"Personal Assistant to Charles Young."

Ash frowned, thinking. "I know the name... Wait a minute." He narrowed his eyes.

Josh smirked. "Yeah."

"Charlie Young's the president's body man."

"That's right. Not to mention presidential son-in-law. You may have seen the wedding on TV."

"And he needs a personal assistant?"

"His wife's about to have a baby. You may have seen that, too."

Ash leaned back in his chair, and looked at him oddly. "Mr. Lyman-"

"Look, I'm not yanking your chain, and this isn't a sympathy appointment. This is the White House, and we don't do that."

Not so close to the president. The behind-the-scenes system of favours and connections that controlled most political positions stopped dead a certain distance from the Oval Office. That close to the president, it was who you were, not who you knew.

Josh let out a breath, and leaned back in his seat. "The fact is, sooner or later, Charlie Young's not gonna be able to fill his job description the same hours that he used to, and when that happens, the president's gonna need a guy. And that's not gonna be the first bright young thing fresh from the temp agency, we're looking for something in particular, and you can't pick it off of a résumé."

He pressed his fingers together, forming a tent over his coffee cup. "I think you might be it. Now, I won't lie to you. I'm not giving you the job. I'm giving you a shot at the job, and there's no guarantee in the world that the president will take to it, that Charlie Young will take to it... There are no guarantees. But I know what I'm looking for, and I think you've got it."

Ash rested his chin on his fist. "Might I remind you that I just resigned my last job for betraying a confidence?" he pointed out a little dryly.

"Yeah."

"And it doesn't bother you that I might do it again?"

"Oddly enough, we prize that kind of behaviour."

"Why?"

"Because we're highly ethical, but stupid."

"Ah."

Josh stood up, and dropped a square of paper with his cell number on the table. "Think about it," he advised. "But do it fast, because this is the White House, and we don't wait around."

He wound his way out between the empty tables. He only glanced back once, as he was pushing through the glass door, to see that Ash had picked up the note, and was tapping it thoughtfully against his chin.

* * *

Those few staff still left in the West Wing had taken the opportunity of Toby and Andy's re-engagement to hold an impromptu party. The last food in the mess had been grabbed, and Donna had been happy to let them steal Josh's semi-secret supply of beer. CJ didn't know where Josh was; closeted somewhere with Leo and the Vice President, plotting strategies, perhaps.

She pushed such thoughts from her mind. Lord knew there would be time enough for getting caught up in spin control and damage limitation over the next few days. For now, this was a party.

Admittedly, a party with a sober undercurrent; the gratefully snatched chance for warmth and congratulations by people who knew it was anyone's guess when they might find something else to celebrate. But then, given that the couple in question were Toby and Andy, perhaps that was appropriate. They were a partnership who'd weathered their share of storms in the past, and no doubt would again.

Indeed, she found Andy in a more reflective mood than the occasion would seem to warrant, lingering around the edges of the party rather than in the thick of it. CJ filled herself another glass of wine, and crossed over to join her.

Andy gave her a slight smile, and for a moment they both watched the festivities going on around them. "Quite the shindig," CJ observed.

"I'm not sure if they're congratulating Toby or celebrating the chance to get him off their back for a while," Andy said, watching her ex-husband gesturing emphatically with a slice of pie. The unfamiliar observer wouldn't have known it from his scowl, but both of them could see that he was happy.

However, it wasn't only Toby who was at the centre of this. CJ slid her gaze sideways. "This is really what you want?" she asked quietly. She was Toby's friend, of course, first and foremost, but she also knew Andy better than any of the rest of them, and knew how tough things had been on both of them when the health of their marriage started to slide.

Andy let out a long slow breath before answering. "Well, it's not impossible I'm completely crazy," she admitted with a thread of humour.

"Marrying Toby Ziegler, that can only be an advantage," CJ noted.

"That's true." She sighed almost silently. "I don't know," she said softly, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm making a mistake, I don't know. But..." She trailed off. "He's... trying to do it right. And whether that's enough, if that's going to be enough... I don't know." She smiled faintly. "Maybe it's all going to implode spectacularly. But, well... maybe it's better if we try and implode than if we never try at all."

CJ smiled, and touched her arm in a gesture of solidarity. "It's worth trying for," she said sincerely. And this time, Andy's expression finally broke into a full, genuine smile.

"It really is," she agreed.

For a moment they just stood together, a little pocket of silence on the edge of the party. Then a beaming Sam came threading his way through the gathered people towards them. "CJ!" he called. "Ed's getting the music for _The Jackal_."

With a feral smile, she placed her glass down on the desk beside her. "Okay," she said, straightening her collar. "_Now_ it's a party."

Andy chuckled, and followed her back into the thick of the throng as the crowd began to cheer her on.

* * *

Hoynes gave a wry smile as he entered the Oval Office. "Looks like there's a party going on in communications. Didn't realise you were that eager to get rid of me."

"Toby Ziegler's getting married," Leo explained. The president sat up and gave him a sharp look.

"Really?"

The Vice President frowned. "Who to?"

"His wife."

Jed grinned delightedly. "Andy agreed to remarry him?"

"Apparently so," Leo agreed.

"Well, there you go." He smiled broadly. "Anything's possible."

"Maybe," Hoynes conceded, not sounding particularly optimistic. Jed grew more serious, and looked him in the eye.

"It's gonna be tough," he acknowledged. "This is gonna be tough. But we're standing by you. You're gonna go out there and tell the truth, and we'll have your back. Are you ready for this?"

Hoynes straightened up. "Yes, sir," he said firmly.

The president nodded firmly, and stood up to shake his hand across the top of the Kennedy desk. "Then let's do this. We're with you, John." Leo moved around the back of the desk to stand beside him. "Tough times ahead... but we're gonna get you through this."


End file.
